


The Druid, the Shaman and the Mage

by Flexor



Category: Warcraft, World of Warcraft
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 109,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flexor/pseuds/Flexor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Night-elf Druid and a Draenei Shaman, out to see the world, and to sharpen their fighting skills. A High-borne mage and her Teacher, also out to see the world, while trying to make sure the world doesn't see <i>them</i>. And finally, Hunter Stetson, out to find his brother, recently knighted by the Lich King.</p><p>It’s the final chapter, and what better way to finish a story than with the sound of wedding bells? Well… A bit of violence, perhaps?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time to get out of here

In the Eastern Kingdoms, on the world of Azeroth, lies the city-state of Stormwind. It was built by Humans, with the help of the Dwarves of Ironforge, stonemasons of renown. It is a beautiful city, lying by the Ocean, with old architecture, small shops, next to the splendour of Stormwind Cathedral with its spires and stained-glass windows. Small boats, filled with trade goods, float along its many canals.

While Stormwind is still considered a Human city, many other creatures of Azeroth can be found there. Times were when a long-eared Night-elf would be stared at, slightly mistrusted and endlessly discussed, but no more. That honour is now bestowed upon the latest addition to the Alliance: The Draenei. While it might be possible to pass off a short Night-elf as a Human by wearing a hat to hide the ears, and perhaps a full facemask to hide the annoyed scowl at being taken for a Human, only a blind man could confuse a Draenei with a Human. This is mostly because even a small Draenei man will overlook a tall Human by more than a head. It would also be rather difficult to hide his tail, and the hooves. Still, even the most stubbornly xenophobic Human has to admit, Draenei are Good People. This is no doubt helped by the fact that their women look Human enough from the ankles up, and tend to be slender, strong, graceful, and in the fevered imagination of many of the young men, not as cold-hearted as their smooth deep blue skin would suggest. A pair of horns on their heads, and a long elegant tail, merely serve to accentuate their exotic beauty.

The Draenei, for their part, look upon the Humans with never ending interest and amusement. As a space-faring race, whose first electronic devices are old enough to be found as fossils, the sheer ingenuity Humans display with simple mechanics, wood, fire, stone, and steel, are a constant fascination. How the Humans are able to build for themselves a quite comfortable existence without even an electric light, or the simplest power-tools, is a delight to watch.

 

In a wonderful mixture of people and technology, old and new, two women, one Night-elf, one Draenei, stood looking into the entrance of the Deeprun Tram. The Tram was one of the great technological marvels of that age, designed by Gnomes, excavated by Dwarves. It connected Stormwind to the Dwarven city of Ironforge. A small Human girl had just disappeared into its gaping maw, to be taught the harsh realities of life, and the skills to overcome them.

The Night-elf woman took a deep breath.

"Aww. They grow up so quickly," she said.

The Human girl was the little sister of her big Human boyfriend. In a way, she felt she was leaving her child at school for the first time.

"It is to be hoped she will," said the Draenei woman. Her voice was deep and gentle. She looked into the tunnel with a fond look in her pale blue, luminescent eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Ferry," said the Night-elf, turning away from the tunnel.

The Night-elf, named Ariciel, ran ahead at a relaxed pace, with the Draenei woman, named Mareva, quickly catching up, hooves clattering on the cobblestones of Stormwind's Dwarven District. To the unprepared traveller, Stormwind was a bewildering maze of water, stone, bridges and alleyways. You needed to keep your eye on the Cathedral to see where you were going. Ariciel, in those nervous early stages of falling in love with this big Human, had spent quite some time wandering these streets with him. While she had, of course, been paying attention to other things, she had a good sense of direction. Mareva, who could give guided tours blindfold in _her_ area of the world, was happy to follow her here.

They ran under the archway, and the harbour of Stormwind lay before them. This harbour was a fairly new addition to the city. In the days before, there had been a very small pier for the one or two fishing smacks that provided fish for the city. That had changed. There was now a dry-dock for the large steamers, several large piers for the ferries to various places in the world, cannons and Night-elven artillery just in case the Enemy got it into their heads to come calling and a never-ending bustle of activity, goods being carried hither and yon, people getting on and off the boats. Without even breaking step, Ariciel and Mareva ran down the ramp towards the salt-smelling water.

They arrived at the docks, just as the ferry pulled in. With a bit of a sprint, they jumped on board before it sailed again. The captain apparently didn't want to spend too much time in port.

"This is reasonable," said Mareva. "Ships only earn money when they are sailing."

"Uh... It's free," said Ariciel.

"To us," said Mareva. "Not to the King. Our tax gold at work."

"Hmm."

They walked to the front end of the boat, past the guards. Ariciel remembered when there had been no guards, nor any of these vendors on board. Mareva chatted a bit to one of the guards, though the Night-elf guard's bearing did not seem to encourage chit-chat. Ariciel looked at the horizon. Another boat trip. Auberdine again. Start point of many of her quests. She looked over her shoulder at Mareva talking to the guard. They had met in Auberdine. After a dreary trek through Felwood, they had dared the tunnel of the Timbermaw Furbolg. Ariciel grinned. The git of a Furbolg had given them some clearly inappropriate feathers to wear. Elune only knew what those feathers signified. 'Will you marry me', probably. Or 'Unsafe to eat'. Whatever it was, it had sent the Furbolg into uncontrollable fits of laughter. A bit embarrassing, even though it had undeniably saved them from being torn to bits.

Soon after that, they had got lucky and found a small, unoccupied cave. Ariciel smiled, biting her lip. They had got to know each other quite, quite well in that small cave. She was almost tempted to suggest trying to find it back. A few yards away, Mareva was grinning at the guard.

"But surely," said the guard, "If I'm _unkind_ to someone, they're automatically less fortunate. Do I then have to apply bandages?"

"That depends entirely on their tastes," said Mareva. "There are many ways to be kind to people."

"Fighting as foreplay? Hmm. I'll suggest that to my boyfriend when we get back into port."

"Who is likely to win?"

The guard raised an eyebrow, and clenched her fist, making her muscles ripple. "Oh please..."

Ariciel chuckled to herself. And to think Mareva regularly accused her of dragging down the conversation. After a while, Mareva joined her on the foredeck.

"Still corrupting innocent Night-elves?"

"Yes," said Mareva, "Though it is almost depressingly easy. I may need a greater challenge."

"You could start on the Draenei," said Ariciel, "Though the challenge may be to find one that isn't corrupted already."

"That is not as funny a remark as you think," said Mareva. "You will see that when you meet Farseer Nobundo. He is one of the Broken ones."

"Broken? As in wounded?"

"Not quite. Their... problem is magical in nature. They were affected by the same influence that drove the Orcs to attack us on Draenor. They can no longer draw upon the Light, and must seek other sources of magic. They call upon the Elemental Spirits for their magic." Mareva gave Ariciel a quick look. "Like I do. When we get to Exodar, please do not mention that I am a Shaman. Not all of my people are comfortable with Shamanic magic."

"Stetson doesn't seem to mind."

"Hunter S'dezo'houn is affected by quite another influence." She looked at her fingernails. "My unparallelled beauty, to be specific."

"Not to mention the things you'll do when the mood strikes you," said Ariciel.

"That, too. I wish this boat would hurry up."

"Yeah. Know how you feel."

* * *

Deep within the walls of Eldre'Thalas, the Daemon-creature Immol'thar lay dead, its unworldly body slowly dissolving into nothing as is the way with Daemons. Whether this was truly the end of the creature, or whether its incomprehensible soul would be roaming the Twisting Nethers still, looking for a way to re-enter Azeroth, and take a terrible revenge, nobody could tell. What was clear, was that the Shen'dralar would no longer be able to drain it of mana. Immol'thar would no longer power the spells the Shen'dralar used for their research into the arcane magics of the High-borne. Magics to grant them what, through their own great folly, they had lost. Immortality.

Ellandriel stood a few steps behind Teacher, who was watching the corpse of Immol'thar's Hither Presence, leaning on a staff. Teacher's glowing eyes turned to her.

"Thero'shan Ellandriel, I have come to the conclusion that this... this ending, is a good thing. Our Prince no longer enjoyed the control over the process he once had. I have been wondering about the..." Teacher's eyes blinked, the light in them flickering briefly. "The disappearance of several of our younger students."

"Were they not taken by the Ogres, Shan'do?"

"Yes," said Teacher. "We all know of the Ogre's insatiable appetite for Night-elf flesh, don't we? So what would possess a bright and promising student to leave the safety of the Athenaeum to venture into the outer wings?"

"The lure of adventure, perhaps? Curiosity? Disobedience?"

Teacher laughed. "What a wonderful fairy-tale to instill obedience. Do not go out, or the Ogres will have you. Have _you_ ever tried to look beyond the walls of the Athenaeum? See what lies beyond?"

Ellandriel shook her head. "We are not welcome in the Outside World. We are exiles, exiles who refused to leave. The Keldorei will kill us when they recognise us for what we are."

The words came without thinking. Every child of the Shen'dralar was fed those words with her mother's milk. The High-borne, once the magical aristocracy of all the Night-elves, had brought disaster on the world of Azeroth. When the smoke cleared, the noise abated, and the Daemons were finally dealt with, the ruling class was unceremoniously thrown out, never to return to Kalimdor. The new rulers had spared their lives, because they balked at mass executions. It had been made clear that any arcane mage would be killed on sight, if ever they dared return. And so the High-borne had scattered. Some travelled over the sea, to Lordaeron in the Eastern Kingdoms. Some dared the Dark Portal, and went to Outland, the shattered remains of Draenor. And some, like Ellandriel's parents, went into hiding in the ruins of their old strongholds, and never came out.

"A lesson well learned," said Teacher. "We do not go out. Few of your age have even seen an Ogre, or a Keldorei. So if not hungry Ogres or vengeful Keldorei, what or who is taking our students?"

"I... don't know, Shan'do," said Ellandriel.

"I don't know. The words that are the first step on the path to wisdom. I take it, then, that you are as eager to find out the truth as I was?"

"Was? You _know_?"

"I strongly suspect. I am almost certain. To be absolutely certain, I would have needed to ask our Prince. Sadly, the band of brutes that deprived us of the comforting presence of Immol'thar, also killed Prince Tortheldrin. Such a pity. I _so_ hate loose ends." Teacher took a deep breath. "Still, necromancy is one area of expertise that I will not enter into. Let no ill be spoken of the dead, or with them."

"Shan'do, you suspect the _Prince_?"

"I do," said Teacher. "My suspicion is that Prince Tortheldrin killed our students, and used their life-force to feed himself. But I have no witnesses. No dead and dessicated bodies. No _evidence_. No matter what I may know, if history teaches us anything, it is that those who are most ardent in their convictions are the ones who are most likely wrong."

Teacher turned round, and started to walk towards the door.

"Ellandriel, there is nothing left for us here. Follow me. We will defy both Ogre and Keldorei. We are leaving."

Ellandriel's jaw dropped, but luckily, Teacher was aleady walking out, and did not see the expression on her face. After a deep breath, Ellandriel followed.

 

Ellandriel watched as Teacher searched through a wooden chest. The search yielded a few rolls of parchment, a book or two and a box containing various potions for use on the road. Satisfied, Teacher closed the chest, started to lock it, then laughed and left the key in the lock.

"We are not coming back here, Thero'shan Ellandriel. Do not leave anything behind you wish to keep, do not take anything you are unwilling to carry for ten thousand miles. Oh." Teacher walked over to a rack up against the wall and removed from it a long, elegantly carved wooden staff.

"Take this. It is one of my old ones, enchanted for extra spell-power. You'll need it."

Ellandriel took the staff from Teacher, looked at it. It was made of dark wood, and it felt warm to the touch. She closed her eyes, and felt the enchantments on the staff work on her.

"Thank you, Shan'do."

"It's as much for my convenience as it is for yours. I am expecting you to make good use of it. Now go, pack your things and meet me in the Prince's study in the Athenaeum."

* * *

To the North of the ocean lies the frozen continent of Northrend. It is the home of the giant race called the Vrykul, and if it weren't for Arthas Menethil, the Lich King, adopting it as his base of operations, the Vrykul would be welcome to it. As it was, both the Horde and the Alliance were taking a warm interest in the place because allowing the Lich King the free run of the place would result in unpleasantness further down. As a result, there was much coming and going between the Eastern kingdoms, in rather advanced steam-powered ships. One of these ships was now nearing its destination. On board were Bannog of Caer Bannog, and his Draenei friend called S'dezo'houn, or Stetson to his Human friends.

They were standing at the front deck, out of the way of the sailors who were standing ready for their arrival at Valiance Keep. Stetson stood still on his large hooves, long tail gently compensating for the movements of the boat, towering over Bannog, who was leaning his elbows on the railing. If the ship had been a sailing vessel, they would have been in trouble, because there was hardly any wind. Now, with the large paddle wheel at the back gently rotating with soft splashing noises, the ship made steady progress.

Stetson's eyes did not move from the harbour town. Somewhere in that town, there would be a Human who had seen his brother, Garz'houn, alive, if one could call it that. Mitral, one of his old hunting mates, had sent him the letter that had started this trek. He had overheard someone mention Garz'houn's name. He and many others, as it had been shouted by a drunken Human who had apparently served under Garz'houn. Garz'houn had not wanted to revive old army memories, and the Human had landed on the floor as a result. Mitral had written that it was one of the recruiters at Valiance Keep. Stetson knew the Human's name. All he had to do was to find him, and have a little chat with him. Mitral would be gone already. Everybody had Quests these days. Next to Setson, Bannog stood up.

"Just a few more minutes, I'd say, till we land."

Stetson nodded. "Have you heard from Paladin Korenwolf?"

"Aye. He'll be waiting for me in the tavern."

"As tradition requires," said Stetson. "Incredible, is it not, how many quests start in some drinking hole or other."

"Taverns have ale. You need to be drunk for some of these quests to seem like a good idea."

"Hah. I am tracking down a Death Knight, hoping to remind him of his former self. If that is impossible, I may have to kill my own brother. Again." Stetson took a deep breath. "The prospect is not attractive for several reasons. Still, being drunk may well be counter-productive."

"Sure you can handle him if you need to?"

"Not at all," said Stetson. "Not at all."

Bannog glanced up at the Draenei Hunter's face, impassive, unshakable. He knew they were both thinking about the battle at Light's Hope Chapel.

"If he needs to die, don't go for the beauty prize. Do what you have to do. Graveyards and battlefields are full of chivalrous, honourable people."

Stetson gave a small nod, and said nothing.

The steamer gently bumped into the quay. They had arrived.

* * *

As she stood by the door, Ellandriel went over the things she had packed. The children of the Shen'dalar were not spoilt, and she had only a few possessions. A few changes of clothes, for different kinds of weather. Her enchanting rod. A small supply of magical potions for mana or to cure wounds. Her stomach tightened. Teacher wanted her to fight. She knew how to. She had practiced. She had sparred. Competed even. This would be different. This was frightening. She looked up at the door again. It led to a secret passage to the Broken Commons. The Broken Commons were an area overrun by Ogres. Large, brutish, cruel, violent. Hungering for her flesh. Some of them had two heads, or were they two people sharing one body? She would have to ask them. She laughed nervously to herself.

"Thero'shan? Are you ready?"

Ellandriel looked over her shoulder to see Teacher, holding a large key. It seemed to shimmer in front of her eyes, and to gleam more than the dim light of candles warranted. Teacher stepped forward, and Ellandriel hurriedly stepped aside. The key fit in the lock, turned with only the merest click, and the tall doors briefly gleamed, then opened outward. Teacher looked round at Ellandriel.

"Follow me, my student. We must find out whether the Ogres of... Dire Maul, as they call it, really have an appetite for your flesh." Teacher turned round, and walked into the tunnel. "I hope not. I do not have so many students that I can afford to use them as decoys."

Ellandriel hesitated. She didn't think she liked Teacher's less than complete concern for her safety. Then, her life-long habit of obedience kicked in, and she followed Teacher into the dark.

* * *

"Next! Occupation?"

"I am not here to sign up," said Stetson. "I am looking for someone."

"What do you think this is? The visitor centre?"

"I think this is the recruitment queue, and I am looking for someone who works as a recruiter," said Stetson. "His name is Mitchell Bailey. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Mitch? Gods, yes. At this time of day, he likes to enjoy a little beauty sleep behind the tavern, having just had his afternoon pint. Of caraway burnwine, I might add. Good luck getting him to pay attention. Don't let him puke all over you."

Stetson frowned. "I hear he met an old army acquaintance of his. Rather loud words were spoken. Do you know anything about that?"

The man behind the counter shook his head. "Sorry mate, can't help you. This place can be a bit rowdy at times. That's what we call 'quiet times'. Best bet is to ask him. Pour coffee into him till he begs for mercy. You're Draenei. Kick him once up the arse for me. Stupid sod couldn't hack it, and escaped by hiding in a bottle."

"He was drunk when called to duty? Why was he not arrested?"

"No point. Anyone can see, he's not going to fight again. So scared of the Scourge that he's turning himself into a zombie before they get the chance to. Anyway, if you're not going to sign up, move on. You're holding up the queue."

"Thank you," said Stetson. "Each day is a blessing."

"Not here, it isn't. Next! Occupation?"

 

He found the Human where the recruiter had predicted he would be. Stetson could see immediately that this man was beyond drunk, beyond passed out after having a few too many. This man was slowly, deliberately, drinking himself into oblivion. Too scared to go on in a mad world of blood, death and fire, yet too scared to end it all. He bent over the man, and rolled him onto his back. The stench of vomit and filth nearly knocked him off his hooves. He grabbed Bailey's shoulder and shook him.

"Sod off! I'm not in the army anymore! I'm not fighting again."

"I am not in the army either. I am looking for someone you know."

The man slowly, slowly, focused his eyes on Stetson. His eyes opened wide.

"Captain!"

Stetson shook his large head. "No. I am not your captain. Where is Captain Garz'houn? I need him."

"Don't know. Don't wanna know." Mitchell Bailey coughed, a horrible noise. He looked up at Stetson. "Got any drink?"

"Yes," said Stetson. "Tell me where Captain Garz'houn is, and I will give you all the drink you need."

"Gimme drink now," said Mitchell Bailey in a miserable whine, "And I'll tell you."

Stetson nodded. He took his backpack from his back, and retrieved a bottle of Qrovna, a parting gift from Mareva. He filled the cup, and passed it to Bailey. Bailey tossed down the drink in one gulp, coughed, and held the cup out to Stetson. Stetson shook his head.

"No. First, you tell me where I can find Captain Garz'houn. Then, you _may_ get more drink."

Bailey tried to grab the bottle, but Stetson pulled it away from him. Stetson bent down.

"Where is Captain Garz'houn?"

"More drink. Need drink to remember."

Stetson slowly put the cap back on the bottle and put it back in his pack. Then, he grabbed Bailey's shirt, lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the wall of the tavern. Bailey struggled feebly, then hung limp. Stetson grunted, and slapped the drunken ex-soldier in the face. He moved his face closer.

"Where is Captain Garz'houn?"

Mitchell Bailey did not reply. Stetson dropped the man, grabbed his hand and wrist, twisted. Bailey gave a startled yell.

"If you tell me all you know about Captain Garz'houn, then I will give you as much drink as you need. If you do not, I will break every bone in your body. One by one." Stetson pushed a bit harder.

"Where is my brother, Captain Garz'houn."

"Sholazar!" Bailey gasped, his face drawn with pain. "He went to Sholazar! The Hemingwary camp!"

Stetson let go of Bailey's wrist. Hemingwary. Or rather, Hemet Nessingwary, Hunter of Renown and, in the considered opinion of Hunter S'dezo'houn of Nagrand, leader of a bunch of tossers. He could find them. Just head for the smell of rotting carcases.

"Good. Be warned. If I go to Sholazar, and nobody has heard of the Captain there, then I will come back, and we will continue this talk."

Bailey looked up at Stetson, cradling his left arm in his right.

"What about my drink Mister? You promised."

"I said all the drink you need. You do not need any more drink. For your sake, I hope we never meet again."

Stetson turned round, and left. Mitchell Bailey's cry rang in his ears.

"I'll get you for this, you shithead. I'll get you!"

* * *

Ariciel stood at the railing, watching the town of Valaar's Berth in the distance. Mareva stood next to her, with a thoughtful expression on her blue face.

"About an hour," said Ariciel.

Mareva said nothing.

Ariciel gave her a look. "Hungry? There's some Old Slab left."

Mareva shook her head, and kept her silence.

"Need a kick up the bottom?"

"No, thank you," said Mareva. After a second or so, she frowned. "What?"

Ariciel studied her friend's face. She wasn't usually this quiet.

"What's up?"

Mareva sighed. "I have not kept my promises. I promised Farseer Nobundo that I would be back within a month, and that is now three months ago. If he thinks I have forgotten about him, then I will not be surprised."

"Hm. Well, you haven't been sitting still."

"That is true, but I could have visited him when I was travelling with Stetson. I did not. I am afraid he will think that I no longer respect him as I did."

"He's your Shaman teacher isn't he?"

"He showed me the way of the Spirits, when I thought that I was simply an incompetent mage." Mareva's eyes turned to Ariciel, a soft expression in them. "He gave me my first totem. An Earth totem. I learnt how to put down an Earthbind totem from him. That was most useful. I was puny and weak, but at least I could run faster than those Blood-elves with a carefully-placed Earthbind."

"Is that when you were looking for signs of contamination?"

"Yes. I was very eager to please, then. A new job. New masters. It always gives you such a wonderful surge of optimism." Mareva stared ahead of her. "It never lasts, but the beginning of a new job..."

"Have all your jobs turned sour?"

"It is the way of jobs. First, enthusiasm. Then, frustration. Then, conflict. Then, the next job. And so it goes on. Even Caer Bannog. I never enjoyed myself as much as when I was out, hunting the Blackrock Orcs. A simple goal. A clearly defined target. And then, Sir Gerrig took over and simply would not listen to reason. I hope that Selena will be alright. She is going to learn fighting skills now, and to command others. She is so young."

"Hmm. Old enough to want some things, not old enough to catch herself when they go wrong. Have you been bounced a lot by people you wanted to get involved with?"

Mareva gave her a little smile. "Not often. I am, after all, the perfect image of beauty." Her eyes turned back to the horizon. "But yes, I have been, by a few ones that I thought were important."

"Doesn't get better with experience either," said Ariciel.

The girls stared in the distance for a while, saying nothing. Ariciel stood up, and elbowed her friend in the side.

"Enough of this gloom. We're both going to see our teachers for some extra spells, and then we're going out into the world to kick butt. Kalimdor first, then Outland, and then we'll be ready to drag our boyfriends out of trouble."

Mareva grinned. "Favour the road travelled by few."

* * *

 

Stetson walked into the tavern, and immediately saw Bannog sitting at a table with the two Dwarf Paladins from the battle at Light's Hope Chapel. He stepped up, nodded at the others.

"Arquenon porous," said Stetson. "It is good to see you again, Paladin Kaylad, Korenwolf. I hope I find you well?"

"Very well, Hunter Stetson," said Wolf. "May I offer you a drink?"

"I am afraid I must leave immediately. I have just received information on the location of my brother. Tracks rarely improve with age. It seems I need to go to Sholazar, where it is known that my brother went."

Bannog got up, and held out his hand to Stetson.

"Good hunting, Stetson. May you find what you seek. If there is anything I can help with, send word to me." Bannog grinned. "If it's fun enough, I may even try to tempt a few Dwarves to join us."

Wolf laughed. "Where there's trouble, there's Korenwolf."

"If not before he arrives," said Kaylad, "then after."

Stetson bowed his head at Kaylad.

"Thank you. Now I must go. Favour the road travelled by few."

With a last wave, Stetson turned round and left the pub. Once outside, he pulled up a strap on his pack, checked his swords and his crossbow. Then he took a deep breath and whistled. From wherever he'd been, Stetson's large blue-striped tiger, Morgan, appeared and butted his head against Stetson's thigh. Stetson scratched him between the ears.

"Today, my friend, we hunt. Slay all that attack me."

Morgan's eyes glowed briefly. Together they ran to the North gate.

* * *

Copyright: © 2008,2009,2010,2011,2012 Menno Willemse. All rights reserved.


	2. Lessons learnt, never forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellandriel takes her first uncertain steps out of the Athenaeum, Mareva and Ariciel wander through Exodar, and Stetson takes in the beautiful sights of Northrend. Rolling plains, rotting Undead, mad Humans. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh nice. Fiddling with your tags causes your story to pop up to the top of the queue. Well, can't have you thinking I'm just trying to jump the queue - have another chapter to make amends.

Teacher extinguished the mage-light that had shown them their path in the long winding tunnel. Ellandriel could see daylight at the end, bright sun. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Her hand gripped her new magic staff.

"Shan'do?" Ellandriel's voice was shaking.

Teacher turned round to her, hands on her shoulders.

"Do not worry, Ellandriel. We are in no danger." Teacher frowned. "Well, not in any danger that I cannot deal with easily. I daresay you could, as well, but the time for tests has not yet come. When we leave the tunnel, stay close to me. We will follow the right-hand wall, and we will walk up the stairs to the passageway."

"Yes, Shan'do," said Ellandriel, with a deep breath, determination on her face.

"Very good. Follow me."

Turning round, Teacher stepped into the light, unconcernedly. Ellandriel pushed her chin forward, and followed. Her staff tapped on the ground every two steps or so. She tried to look in all directions at once, while keeping her face straight forward. Then, she saw them. Taller than the tallest of Elves, disgustingly fat. Some had a single short horn on their heads. They wore nothing but loincloths, probably because their filthy hides were thick enough that swords and arrows would bounce off them. Would they shrug off her firebolts or frost bolts? She drew a bit closer to Teacher, and walked on.

None of the Ogres seemed to see them. Or rather, they glanced at her, glanced at Teacher, then quickly turned their eyes away. They looked almost... afraid. Afraid, of a slender Night-elf maiden? She looked at Teacher, whose face held an expression, almost of boredom. Ellandriel opened her mouth to ask something, then closed it again.

"Observe, Thero'shan. Do you see the one in the middle of the garden? His name is Mol'dar, and he is the guardian of this garden. The others are his minions. We like to think of Ogres as... unsophisticated, but you will notice that they maintain a chain of command, a hierarchy. Mol'dar reports to the King's Observer, Cho'Rush, who reports to King Gordok himself. Interesting, don't you think?"

"Yes, Teacher," said Ellandriel. At the moment, Ogre command lines did not interest her as much as Ogre diet, and whether that included her.

"Student? What is this ogre's name?"

Ellandriel blinked, replayed the last minute's conversation in her head.

"Mol'dar, Shan'do."

"Who reports to?"

"The... the King's advisor, Shan'do."

"Named?"

Ellandriel bit her lip. "Named... named..."

"Cho'Rush. Observer Cho'Rush. _Do_ pay attention, Student. Don't let your childish fear distract you. As you can clearly see, these Ogres are more scared of us than you are of them. Now, Cho'rush. Who does _he_ report to?"

Ellandriel looked up at Teacher.

"King Gordok, Shan'do."

"King Gordok. Very good. As it happens, this is King Gordok the fifth, or sixth. By Ogre law, if you manage to kill the King, then you _become_ their King. This has happened several times already. Bands of adventurers come in and assassinate the King. Then, they do a quick run round, demanding tributes from all and sundry, whereupon they make themselves scarce, leaving the poor Ogres to manage their own affairs. They appoint a new king. You may suspect that this is a rather bloody and violent affair, but in fact, all prospective Kings are expected to state their case to the Observer and the gathered population, whereupon the Observer appoints one of them the new King. Then, the whole sorry business repeats itself ad infinitum, ad nauseam." Teacher sighed. "People sometimes ask, what is the greatest vice. I think I could make a convincing argument for greed. Never mind. Follow me, Student. Up the stairs."

* * *

 

"Welcome, child. It is good to see you again."

Mareva gave Farseer Nobundo an uncertain look.

"I have not been quick in returning, Teacher."

"Have you learnt much on your travels?"

Mareva considered.

"I have seen things. I have been close to death on several occasions. I have found new friends. I have spoken to the Naaru A'dal."

"Very good." Farseer Nobundo studied Mareva's face, noting details that Mareva would never know she betrayed in her expression. "Very good," he said again. "You have found love."

Mareva blinked. How... No use denying it, though.

"Yes," she said, and her eyes shone brighter. "Yes, I have."

"So, assuming that it is not your pretty Night-elf companion, why is this person not with you now?"

"He is on a mission. His brother may be lost in Northrend. I could not follow."

Nobundo nodded. "So now, you want me to teach you the skills you need to survive in horrible places, hmm? Point at your head. Make you awesome."

Mareva grinned. "Yes please. It would be the easiest way."

"It would not," said Nobundo, with only the slightest hint of a laugh in his strange, deep, husky voice. "But you know that. You already know that such things are bought, not with gold, but with pain and trouble."

"All that, and gold as well," said Mareva. "I do not grudge you. You must keep up your strength. How are the Draenei treating you these days?"

Nobundo laughed quietly. "They are well able to hide their disdain. Velen, may the spirits smile on him, would not be pleased if they did not. It frightens them to know that I was once like them, and that my fate may come to them as well. And then," He looked up, into Mareva's eyes, "There are those who feel no such disdain. They even listen to my teachings now and then. Sometimes I wonder which of the two is more remarkable. The sadness in one, or the gladness in the other."

Ariciel stood a step behind her Draenei friend, and looked at Farseer Nobundo. The Shaman teacher. A broken Draenei. Seeing them together, Ariciel could see the connection between them. Mareva's fine, delicate features contrasted with Nobundo's wrinkled, almost grey face. Mareva's hands, folded in front of her stomach, with slender fingers, capable of subtle work in her crafts of engineering and jewel-making, mirrored Nobundo's rough, three-fingered claws. And still, they had the same build. Arms, legs, hooves.

Mareva had told her some of Nobundo's story. He had been a warrior, a Vindicator, in the battles for Shattrath, against the Orcs. He was strong, then, and powerful in the Light. Still, the opposing Horde had been stronger, and had the help of something horrible. It had robbed many Draenei of their connection to the Holy Light, making them powerless. Then, the slaughter had begun. Ariciel remembered Mareva's deep sad voice as she told her about Nobundo waking up, half buried under the tower that had crumbled under him, the terrified screams of women and children in his ears. His powers gone, and his leg broken without the Light to heal it, he had crawled away out of the city, eventually to be found by other refugees.

Nobundo had meditated and prayed daily, all day, for his powers to return. All to no avail, until, unexpectedly, his prayers were answered. Not by the Light, but by the Wind. It whispered to him a simple phrase: 'Everything that is, is alive.'

Slowly but surely, Nobundo had learnt more of the path of the Elements, not only Air, but Earth, Fire, Water, and the one Ariciel felt most connected to, the Wilds. Each with its own message. Its own strength. Its own weakness. Nobundo, driven by necessity, had been the first of his kind to follow the path of the Elements. Many of the Broken had followed, and even some of the unbroken Draenei, such as Mareva. Ariciel looked at Mareva's face as she talked to Farseer Nobundo. All the tension and anxiety had left it, and she was taking pleasure in speaking with the old teacher.

"This is my friend Ariciel," said Mareva. "I found her in Auberdine, and tricked her into helping me through Felwood."

"Loved every moment," said Ariciel. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"Apart from our encounter with the oozes, perhaps," said Mareva.

"Well, yes. She's easy to please though. All I had to do was feed her something other than hot gloop from a bag."

Farseer Nabundo frowned. "Emarree contain a delicate balance of all the nutrients, minerals and liquids that a Draenei needs to stay on the hoof. With the heating element added, it contains within the elements of Fire, Water, Earth and Air. They are a great benefit to our people."

Ariciel raised her hands. "Sorry, no offence meant."

"None taken," said Nobundo. "They taste like an elekk has already eaten them once. So why are you here, child of Elune? You do not walk the path of the Elements. I cannot teach you to call upon them."

"My own beloved. He's also in Northrend. When Mareva's business here is done, we will travel on to Darnassus, and I will speak with my teacher, Mathrengyl Bearwalker. We both have to learn the skills to survive in the Lich King's garden."

Nobundo briefly closed his eyes. "The Lich King's forces are strong. I have been grievously hurt by them. He now has his own powers to wield, as well as those of the Burning Legion. Listen well to your teacher, Druid. His teachings may save your life."

"I know," said Ariciel. "I will."

"Good. Now Shaman Mareva, what can I teach you today?"

"Everything," said Mareva.

* * *

 

Stetson sat on a little hill overlooking the beleaguered town of Farshire. Far to his right, harvest collectors walked the fields. He frowned. Automated crop collection was all well and good, but why did these humans have to make them look like, well, themselves? It seemed to him like pretend slavery. His sharp eyes saw several undead creatures scuttling about between the burning buildings, in that strange, flailing, loping gait of theirs. They were beaten back by the Farshire Militia. Even though they were little more than re-animated flesh puppets, nothing much escaped their attention. They were not very strong, but they could probably overwhelm Stetson and Morgan if he wasn't careful. Well, only one thing to do, then. He turned to Morgan. He didn't like to do this, but the big cat would be a magnet for anything wanting a bit of a scrap.

"Sorry, boy," said Stetson.

He cast the spell, and with a disappointed yowl, Morgan's form faded and disappeared. Stetson sighed, fumbled for the reins to his elekk and summoned it. He spurred it on and charged. Stetson rode like a storm past several surprised undead, who howled and gave chase. Good. As long as they were behind him, all was fine. They hadn't a chance of catching up with him. As long as they weren't in front of him, all was well. Stetson rode on, past the town hall that still stood unassailed, and past the mine entrance where some undead faces were already peeking out. To his north, he saw his goal: a small path leading up into the plains beyond. Stetson narrowed his eyes, and bent over the large head of his mount, trying to get the last bit of speed out of it. Then, without warning, beautiful in the splendour of its golden-hued grass, the Borean Tundra lay before him. The last few Scourge scavengers gave up the chase and returned to Farshire.

Stetson dismounted. First things first. He opened his pack and pulled out a generous portion of meat. Then, he concentrated, and let his magic flow. From out of nowhere, Morgan appeared, looking extremely annoyed at being stuffed away like that. It took most of the meat before he would allow Stetson to scratch him between the ears again. He head-butted Stetson in a way that said: Alright then, but don't do it again. Stetson smiled.

"I know, boy."

 

 

"Hey you! You're after me kills, aren't you?"

Stetson slowly turned round, to see a Human... hunter, for want of a better word. He was wearing a blood-spattered tunic of leather, and on his belt were swords. Humans, at the best of times, had only the barest grip on sanity, but this one had clearly not bothered even holding on to it. He looked at Stetson with blood-shot red eyes, fingering his weapons. Best to take this easy.

"I am not after your kills," said Stetson.

"Oh, I know! You're with those filthy hippies. After me ears, are ye?"

Stetson stared at the creature.

"What," he said, "would I want with your ears?"

"Bloody dettas can't get enough of them. Probably eat 'em."

Stetson sighed.

"I am going that way." He pointed North. "Now."

"I knew it! That's where they hide! I'll get ye for this!"

With a scream, the Human charged at Stetson. Stetson caught the swords with his chainmail bracers, and leapt back. There was a growl, and Morgan leapt at the loot-crazed Human. While Morgan kept the Human busy, Stetson jumped back a few paces and loaded his crossbow with the practiced ease of long, long habit. He'd got his whole supply of Terrorshaft arrows out of the bank. The heaviest arrows he had. They worked beautifully on the insane Human, who went down with only two shots. Morgan came bounding back to him with a big kitty grin on his face. Stetson couldn't resist feeding him a few more pieces of meat. At this rate, he was going to run out before he even got in the same general area as Hemet Nessingwary's camp. Oh well. Plenty of meat to be had in the plains.

Stetson found the road to the North, and followed it.

* * *

 

With studied nonchalance, Teacher and Ellandriel walked up the stairs. On the large stone walkway were more Ogres. Teacher didn't even look at them. They left Mol'dar's garden, and entered a new area. These were called the Broken Commons now. Ellandriel looked up to the sky. High clouds, featureless. The sun did not show itself behind them. This had been the great amphitheater, the scene of great trials of battle, where Mages, Warriors, Druids could show feats of strength, cunning or magic. There were rumours of duels to the death. Sometimes, even the most civilised of societies need a way to indulge their basest instincts. Ellandriel looked at the Ogres, who were walking round the arena, standing in small groups, talking to each other. None of them seemed ready to fight another Ogre.

Ellandriel followed her teacher. They walked along the wall, all the way round, until they came to the entrance to the Warpwood quarter. Ellandriel immediately saw an Ogre standing by the door. Unlike the other Ogres, this one looked at them with an almost hopeful expression in his eyes.

"Ignore him," said Teacher, walking on.

There was a creaking noise behind Ellandriel, and she jumped. She looked at the tree behind her, up, up, then noticed that it had a face. Deep green mournful eyes stared at her from a great distance of time. She felt she had to say something, but didn't quite know what.

"Oh Ellandriel," said Teacher, wearily. "Do keep up. We have no time for this."

Teacher stepped on, then stood still and made an annoyed sound. The walkway in front of Ellandriel's feet had collapsed at some point in the past, and a very large tree now grew where Teacher weanted to go.

"Ogres may have a more elaborate society than we give them credit for, Thero'shan, but they do not keep the place in good repair. I suppose we'll have to walk all the way round. Leaping and clambering along is most undignified."

Teacher turned round, and walked along the walkway, staying close to the railing. Deep below was another garden. A canopy of leaves hid what lay below. Ellandriel drew her gaze away, and followed Teacher. They had only walked a few steps when they stopped again. Teacher pointed.

"Look at them, Ellandriel."

Ellandriel looked. She recognised the creatures from many drawings in the books of lore. They were called Treants. Ancient tree-creatures that walked round on short root-like legs, angry expressions on their wooden faces.

"Thero'shan, take care. These creatures _will_ attack us if they see us, but I wish them to come to no harm. They are old. So old, that they make even me feel like a child again. Those eyes looked upon this world before Orcs ever set foot upon it, or even Elves. We will try to elude them. If any of them see us, _run_."

Quietly, Ellandriel and Teacher walked along the wide ballustrade, hiding behind the pillars whenever Treants walked past. At the last of the pillars, Teacher kneeled down, looked ahead, and frowned.

"Lashers. Just what we need."

"These are not Ancients, Shan'do?"

"Mere annuals. Weeds. Still, if we attack them, the Ancients might notice. Follow me, be quiet."

 

 

The Night-elves are often described as 'elusive'. Their deep spiritual connection to their beloved forests lets them pass through the trees without even a leaf stirring at their passage. No other people in Azeroth have their ability to weave the shadows around them, to become as close to invisible as it is possible to be without magic. This marvellous skill lets them flit through the trees, safe, unseen, unafraid, to descend like the Wrath of Nature personified upon their hapless foes.

Ellandriel was shaking in her boots by the time they finally reached the other side of the walkway, and slipped into another tunnel, quiet, hidden. She closed her eyes, leant against the wall, and tried to steady her breathing. Something touched her shoulder, and she jumped, stared. Teacher looked at her.

"Thero'shan, you really must put yourself past this entirely unwarranted concern for your own safety. I am here." They walked on, and Ellandriel could only just catch the grin on Teacher's face. " _My_ safety should be all your concern."

They came to a place paradoxically quite well known as the Hidden Reach. At some time in the past, it had been a laboratory for alchemical and magical experiments that one wanted to perform out of sight. All the equipment had long since gone, and weeds grew where once there had been the unwholesome smells of chemicals. Ellandriel and Teacher walked on, until Teacher suddenly stopped.

"Shan'do?"

"Shh. Be ready."

"Ready for wh-"

Teacher whirled round, one hand burning with fire, then lashed out. There was a startled scream, a horrible choking noise, then.. silence. Teacher kneeled down. On the floor lay the dead body of a Satyr.

"I was wondering when they would turn up," said Teacher, searching the body. "Here." Teacher handed Ellandriel a few silver coins.

Ellandriel looked at the dead Satyr. Satyrs were small, covered in red fur, horns on their heads, hooves instead of feet. This Satyr had a gaping, still smouldering hole in his chest. His eyes were wide open, an expression of terror was on his face. Ellandriel had seen two dead people before. One of them had died of that most horrible disease that all Night-elves suffered from, after the Sundering: old age. Another had met with an accident. She had not been there when they died, and they had been laid out for burial. They had looked like they were sleeping, and when the pyres were lit, and the flames died down, there were just ashes, ashes to scatter on the wind. These funeral pyres had not always been the Shen'dralar way. They used to bury their dead, in the forest, so that the last act of a Night-elf's existence would be to nourish one of his or her beloved trees. But the Shen'dralar, the last remnant of the Aristocracy, had been cast out. The earth would no longer accept their bodies. And so, in their final sleep, they burnt.

That was death, as peaceful as it was possible for one of the Shen'dralar to die. The creature lying on the ground at Ellandriel's feet had not wanted to die.

"Traitors." Teacher scowled at the Satyr, and got up.

"Shan'do?"

"Have you read of the Sundering? Have you read of the punishment of the arrogant High-borne whose bodies were twisted and turned?"

"Yes, Shan'do. I took it to be a metaphor for terrible tortures."

"There is nothing metaphorical about it. Their bodies were _literally_ twisted and turned. Into these wretched Satyrs, and into the Naga. You will have read the illustrated works on them. Where in the animal kingdom are the Naga placed?"

"They are marine reptiles, Shan'do."

Teacher gave Ellandriel a slow smile. "And do reptiles suckle their young?"

"No, Shan'do. Reptiles lay eggs, and the egg-white and the yolk are the food of the young."

"Precisely. The word is 'ovoviviparious'. That being the case," Teacher pointed at Ellandriel's chest. "Why do you think that the Naga females should have breasts?"

Ellandriel hesitated. There were 'artists' who would put breasts on any creature, whether they had them in that place or not, for no other reason than that they quite liked them. This book, though, had been a serious work on biology. Not that she'd ever admit to even _touching_ any of the... other works.

"I don't know, Teacher."

"They have breasts because the one who turned the High-borne into them did not see fit to remove them. They are vestigial. Left only as a reminder of who they once were. And these miserable creatures..." Teacher kicked the corpse of the Satyr. "They were the ones who came up with the ideas that I felt I had to distance myself from. By a whole continent. If they had not, then we would still be immortal."

 

 

Ellandriel followed Teacher into the next area, and held her breath. They had come to a hallway. There were a few small fires. Around them were Satyrs, dozens of them. More of the weed-creatures, Lashers, walked about. There was no way to get past them by stealth.

"Ellandriel? It is time for you to wake up and find that you are strong. Do you remember how to do Arcane Missiles?"

Ellandriel stared wide-eyed at Teacher, shook her head. "Teacher... Please, no!"

"Excellent," said Teacher, and pushed Ellandriel forward, into the hallway. "I think they've spotted you. Fire at will."

Ellandriel froze as pairs of eyes, Satyr and vegetable, fixed on her. She raised her hand, trembling, hesitating.

"Any time you like, Thero'shan. I think they are about to attack you. We may have lost the element of surprise."

There was a noise in the air, as every creature in the room started to growl, hiss, rustle. Anger flared up. As Ellandriel stared at them, several of the creatures prepared spells. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't _think_. She tried to remember her spells and couldn't. She looked from one creature to the other, hand following her gaze. Two of the satyrs thrust their hands forward, and dark bolts of death flew towards her.

"Oh for the love of Elune..."

Teacher stepped forward, body shining with a fierce green light, in front of Ellandriel. The bolts hit. Teacher grimaced, raised a hand and cried out. From out of nowhere, ice and hailstones fell down on the Satyrs and the Lashers, crushing, freezing. Teacher kept looking round, redirecting the falling ice where the most enemies were. Then, a deep silence fell, only broken by Ellandriel's gasps for air. Teacher turned round to Ellandriel, who had fallen to her knees. She looked up.

"Shan'do... I... I failed you." Ellandriel bowed her head. "I am sorry."

Teacher kneeled by Ellandriel, put a hand under her chin and made her look up.

"Would you care to explain to me what happened?"

Ellandriel didn't dare look away. "I could not fire, Shan'do. I could not do it. I could not strike to..." She swallowed. "To kill."

Teacher took a deep breath, slowly let it escape. "You have never taken the life of anything that can talk. Possibly never even hunted for food. That is a line to cross, and for some, it is harder than for others. I will not hold that against you. Let no blood be on your hands for a little while longer." Teacher stood up, pulled Ellandriel to her feet. "But if you learn one thing today, learn this. We have left the Athenaeum. We have left the classroom. The moment you stepped through the door, into the tunnel, you left your childhood behind, and you will never regain it. And let me tell you, Thero'shan, that life will become harder, never easier, with every step you take from now on. Any student with your abilities should easily have been able to take out these satyrs and a few lashers. The next test will not be so easy, and may well require the strength of both of us. Do I need to tell you what will be the price of failing that test?"

Ellandriel blinked, slowly, once.

"No, Shan'do."

"Good. Now let's get going."

 

 

Together, they walked on through the tunnel at the end of the hallway. They were not disturbed until they came to a large door. With only a single glance at Ellandriel, Teacher opened it. They found themselves in a deep trough, running left and right in a circle, sloping up. They walked on, and found themselves in a pavillion. Teacher, Ellandriel's dismal performance apparently forgotten, grinned at her.

"Nobody can help you when you are facing a gazebo."

Ellandriel blinked. "Teacher?"

"Never mind." Teacher stopped dead, staring. In the middle of the pavillion, a Night-elf sat on the floor. Teacher stood in front of the Elf's feet. "Azj'Tordin. What an infinitessimal pleasure to see you."

Azj'Tordin looked up, scowling.

"You."

Teacher simply nodded.

"I suppose you are pleased that you were proven right."

"Not really, no. In this particular case, I would have much preferred to be wrong."

"Well, all is perfectly clear in hindsight."

"Oh come now. Do you mean to say that the signs were unclear? Our Prince? The timing? Coincidences should not repeat themselves too often."

Ellandriel watched the Elf and her teacher arguing, when she spied movement from the corner of her eye. Her jaw dropped.

"Shan'do," she hissed.

"Quiet girl," said Teacher.

"But. There's an _Orc_ there."

"Ignore him, and we will go away. Much like our friend here, I assume."

"Can't," said Azj'Tordin. "I need my book of incantations."

"Well you should have brought it then."

Azj'Tordin scowled. "What do you think I am, an imbecile? I brought it, but some cursed imp stole it from me, then ran back into the Warpwood Quarter. There is no way that I can retrieve it. I don't suppose you could?"

"My dear chap, we would be absolutely _delighted_ to carry your things after you."

"Really?" Azj'Tordin's eyes lit up with hope.

"No. I suggest you ask some adventurers to take some time out of their busy plans of murder and pillage, and fetch your book for you." Teacher turned round. "Ellandriel, stop staring at Mr. Fireblade and follow me."


	3. Part 3: Friends and lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that Stetson has just met the Druids for the Ethical and Humane Treatment of Animals. They’re a lovely bunch of people, really, as long as you remember not to… Oh. I see you know already. He may also meet an old acquaintance of Mareva's.

Mareva and Ariciel walked along the wide hallways of Exodar. Ariciel turned her head this way and that, wordlessly. All about them were lights, crystals, smooth paths. In some places, they seemed to walk on nothing but thin air, supported by magic, and they could see far, far down below. Ariciel told herself that Draenei males twice her own weight regularly walked these paths. On their elekks. This part of Exodar had been spared much of the damage that the outlying parts had sustained.

"It's beautiful," said Ariciel.

"It was beautiful, before the crash," said Mareva. She pointed. "That corridor is lit because I hooked up one of the power crystals to a string of running lights. I had to modify them not to blink, or people would have got headaches. They were originally festive lights. Oh. Come over here." Mareva leaned over a rail and pointed down.

Ariciel looked. Deep down in what looked to her like a mine shaft, there was a glowing orb, with blades of light lazily revolving round it. Almost she thought she could hear chimes. She'd never seen anything like it, but in this place, that was more or less a constant.

"Is that your engine?"

Mareva snorted. "Do not let him hear it. That, my friend, is the Naaru O'ros. He is the one who could move Exodar from one place to another. You have today seen one of the creatures of the Light."

"Oh. So he's the one who crashed the ship?"

Mareva's face darkened with old anger.

"No. The Sin'dorei crashed Exodar, by tampering with its engines. O'ros could not help it. Nobody could."

They walked on, until they came to a corridor with many doors. Mareva pressed the buttons on one of them, and it opened, revealing a small room.

"Welcome to my home," said Mareva.

Ariciel looked round. It was small, more like a ship's cabin than a proper room. Part of the ceiling was lit up. Light to see by. With the door shut, it was perfectly quiet. A small table was attached to the wall, and there was a single chair to sit on. Mareva touched a side of the wall, and magically, an image appeared of green fields, above which shone a yellow sun. Trees were in the distance. A small lake could be seen.

"That is my real home," said Mareva, "But it has been destroyed in the cataclysm. I have been there with Stetson. It is not a happy sight." She sighed, then looked at Ariciel. "Drop your pack here. We are going out. I know a tavern."

"A tavern?" Ariciel stared at Mareva in slack-jawed astonishment. " _You?_ "

Mareva laughed. "Indeed. I am no stranger to alcoholic beverages. I apologise for shattering your illusions."

"Do you think they'll have Qrovna?"

"Only if you are well-known to the caregiver." Mareva grinned. "Which, fortunately, I am." 

* * *

"Idiots. Zlotniks. Imbeciles."

Stetson was hidden in the undergrowth, keeping an iron grip on Morgan's collar with one hand, his crossbow in the other. Vicious spells turned round in his head, waiting to be cast. His eyes turned upwards, as a raven passed overhead. Bloody Druids. What did they expect a polar tiger to eat? Cabbages? The worst thing was that he'd be pretty hard put to it even to win over one of them, and there were at least a dozen. Tauren, Night-elves. Even one Frost-nymph, may the Light forgive her. A plague on all of them. Stetson's hunter senses worked overtime, now alerting him to the presence of humanoids, then to beasts. At least there were no Undead. He wondered how long it would be before these madmen would give up. Surely, they would before nightfall?

"Morgan, stay. Do not attack unless I tell you."

Morgan's eyes glowed in acknowledgement.

"It's going to be a long afternoon."

Morgan gave a low growl, and lay down at Stetson's feet.

When he could sense nothing too close, Stetson broke cover, and made for a small stream nearby. No telling whether these idiots could track him by scent, so let's not make it easy for them. The water was just deep enough for him to walk with his head just above the surface. Morgan paddled along next to him, shooting him the occasional filthy look. He didn't like swimming. Well, neither did Stetson. He just preferred it to being ripped limb from limb by dire bears. When he judged that he had covered enough of his scent, he quietly made for the bank and started wringing himself out. He shook the water out of his boots. Draenei boots would never fit a Human. Mostly, they were simply tubes of leather, chain or plate that protected the pastern, the bit between hoof and ankle. Only rarely did Draenei cover their actual hooves. There was no need to, usually. They didn't feel heat or cold, and they were hard enough to cut glass. He thought of Mareva's rather gorgeous hooves, and smiled. It would be a great shame to cover those up.

There was a noise behind Stetson, and he jumped to his hooves, crossbow in hand. An enormous bear had walked up. As he watched, there was the flow of magic, and a tall Night-elf stood before him. He waved his hand.

"Have no fear, friend. I mean you no harm. We are hunting for a murderer. Clearly, you are not the one we are looking for, as the reek of blood is not upon you. Have you seen one who looks like you?"

Stetson blinked.

"Um. I may have, I saw him at a great distance. He was fleeing to the South."

"Hmm. That's where the Clam Master hides. I suspected as much. Well, I fear he may have eluded us for the moment. But have no fear. If he ever shows his face here again, we will have him."

Stetson nodded sagely. Idiots.

"May you find what you need. Be kind to those less fortunate."

The Druid smiled.

"Del'nadris," he said. "Or, as your people say, favour the road travelled by few."

"Believe me," said Stetson, "I will." 

 

Stetson rode along the road, further and further to the North, in much better spirits. The Druids had given up their chase, and he had escaped. Another delay, but better a long delay than a permanent one. This part of the world was beautiful. Endless plains of grass, teeming with life. From where he was riding, he could see marsh fawns, and caribou, grazing. In the distance, dwarfed by the distance, a herd of some large animal was making its way to feeding grounds. Stetson rose in his stirrups, peering ahead. A big grin appeared on his face. Mammoths! Stetson turned to Morgan, who was easily trotting along beside him.

"If we catch one of those, my friend, we'll never have to work again!"

Stetson rode ahead, further along the road to the North, until he found what he was looking for: In the distance, a strange magical object floated above a huge pillar of stone. This must be the Mosslight Pillar, one of the five mysterious pillars that dotted Sholazar. Good. That meant Sholazar basin was near, and that he could start rattling people for news of his brother. After a few more hours brisk riding, he plunged down into what was still known as the Lost Passage into Sholazar Basin, though it was quite well travelled these days. Stetson looked round. It looked as though someone had sliced away a piece of steamy jungle, and placed it in the middle of a cold area. Even the temperature rose abruptly, and Stetson took off several layers of clothing before it became bearable. What caused this sharp change, he could not say, though it was obviously magical in nature. Perhaps that strange tower had something to do with it, or else the dragons that were said to inhabit the area.

Never mind. Stetson rode down to the path, until he heard cries of battle and the sound of feet running. Calling Morgan to him, Stetson veered off the road and into the green vegetation. As he peered out, he recognised a creature known as a Gorloc. They were basically a head on legs, with large mouths full of teeth and a large, thick tongue. They were being chased by creatures that looked vaguely bear-like, though they were wielding spears. Stetson patiently waited for the creatures to pass by. Not his fight. When things quieted down again, he continued along the road, till he found a small bridge over a stream. Further upstream was the wreckage of a ship. Apparently, someone had very thoroughly wrecked this ship as bits of plank, deserted cargo and other debris continued downstream. As he looked round, there was the sound of gunfire to his right. Hmm. It wasn't the frantic rattle of a gun in battle, but rather the regular, composed shots of someone on a shooting range. Which meant intelligent beings. Hah. Intelligent by Northrend standards at least. He turned to Morgan.

"Try to look vegetarian will you?" 

 

"Arquenon Porous," said the Draenei woman, with a glint in her eye. "It is good to see a blue face again. My name is Debaar."

"Hunter S'dezo'houn," said Stetson. "Long life. Good health. What brings a Draenei hunter to a place like this? Surely, you were not at the helm when your ship arrived?"

Debaar's smile did not even falter, though her pale blue eyes hardened.

"I am warning you. If the words 'Helmsmen of the Apocalypse' are hurrying towards your lips, then so is my fist. I keep reminding people that I was off shift when Exodar came down. The unlucky souls who were at the helm when the engines failed, were all killed in the crash."

"My friend Mareva says that her engines were sabotaged. Perhaps you want to compare notes."

"Mareva? _Engineer_ Mareva?"

"Yes," said Stetson.

"You know her?"

Stetson smiled. "To know her truly, would be the study of a lifetime, but yes, I do."

"Are you her mate, then? I thought she was with Viral."

"I'm afraid Viral is dead. He was killed by the Sin'dorei."

"That is a great sadness. Viral was a good man."

"Do you know Mareva well, then?"

Debaar blushed, and looked over her shoulder.

"She and I were both in the Deviants. She beat my score by just two points."

"Deviants? I have not heard of this."

Debaar looked at Stetson, clearly wondering whether to tell him more. She chuckled.

"Well, it was one of the social clubs on Exodar. There were the Zealots, who made up religions for fun, with exceedingly strict rules against very trivial things. Taking up a fork in the left hand was a grave offence, for instance. And then there were the musicians, the scientists, the sportsmen. All to combat boredom."

Stetson nodded, an invisible smile on his face. He could see the way this was going.

"And the Deviants?"

Debaar's face turned a deeper shade of blue.

"Pleasures of the flesh, I'm afraid. We would... sample each other, and give each other points. One, two or three. I should not have tried the Captain. He was interested only in his ship. I am sure I could have scored at least two points off someone else."

"So you and Mareva..."

Debaar grinned. "Mutual three points. Most memorable."

"Did Mareva win, then?"

Debaar shook her head. "Not by a long stretch. There was this girl. She was beautiful, and looked so innocent that anyone would swear that nobody had ever got their hands anywhere near her tail. You got an automatic three points for sampling someone outside the Deviants, so everybody leapt for her. And then, she'd calmly pull out her notebook and give you two points out of three. Everybody gave her three points. She won most deservedly." Her luminous eyes found Stetson's. "She was killed in the crash. Another kind soul lost."

"I am beginning to think that travelling here by the Dark Portal was safer after all. Do many Draenei pass this way?"

"Unfortunately not. You are only the third to pass through this month. Though undoubtedly the most handsome."

Stetson laughed. "How many points for someone not even on the ship?"

"Three. Though the last one, I would not have tried even for a hundred points. He was... changed."

"Do you mean a Death Knight?"

"Yes. He scared me, though he made no move against anyone here." Debaar shuddered. "I could see it in his eyes. There was so much blood on his hands that even fire could not burn it off. I was glad to see him depart."

"Do you know his name?"

Debaar shook her head. "He called himself Paxvobiscum, but that was a chosen name. It means 'Peace be upon thee' in one of the ancient dialects of this planet."

"Hmm. Did he look in any way like me?"

"Of course n-" Debaar stared at Stetson. "Is he related to you?"

"He is, or was, my brother. I need to find him."

"He flew off to the East, though to the West, there is only the sea, so that tells you very little. Ask the flight master. On second thought, let me take you to him. He might tell me, but not someone he doesn't know."

"That would be most helpful, thank you." 

 

"You mean that scary one? Oh yes. He was making for Dragonblight. I gave him one of my fastest airplanes, just to be rid of him quicker." Weslex Quickwrench, the Gnomish flightmaster, nodded at Stetson. "If you are related to him, Sir, you have my condolences. I would not recommend chasing after him."

"Neither would I," said Stetson, "But I must. Where did he go?"

"Dalaran. Had obviously been there before, or I wouldn't have sent him there."

"Of course. I suppose you couldn't..."

"No. Against the rules, I'm afraid. Very strict. No travelling to unfamiliar places."

Debaar leaned on Stetson's shoulder, and whispered in his ear. "I could probably call in a favour from him, if you'll do me a favour in return."

"Would I need to join the Deviants?"

Debaar laughed quietly. "Only afterwards. I want my full three points." 

 

The noise was horrible, but it was fast, no doubt. The wind battered Stetson's face as the helicopter made its way to Dalaran. Stetson much preferred to travel by Hippogriff or Griffin. A beast would show signs of weariness, where a machine might simply cease to work at high altitude. Nothing for it, though. Besides, Gnomes had an excellent reputation as engineers, or was that Goblins? Never mind. He had a location and a name. He now also had two Deviant points. Debaar had explained that it was bad form to give full marks to the boyfriends of acquaintances. She had come out to wave him goodbye as he left.

The smile left Stetson's face as his mind returned to the job. He doubted if he'd find the flight master at Dalaran as accomodating as this Gnome. Still, something would come up. It always did. 

* * *

Ellandriel walked next to Teacher, through the dense forests of Feralas. Keldorei were hiding behind every bush and shrub, arrows aimed at her. Spiders were ready to drop on her from every tree-branch. She glanced at Teacher, who was walking with quick, powerful strides, looking round with a big smile.

"Thero'shan, I cannot begin to tell you how much I have missed this." Teacher pointed at a tall tree. "What kind of tree is that?" 

"It's an oak, Shan'do."

"What subspecies?"

"Um..." Ellandriel searched her memory, looking at the leaves.

" _Quercus_ _Feralaensis_ , Thero'shan. The Feralas Oak." Teacher bent down, picking up something from the ground. "Easily recognisable from the shape of the leaves, the direction of its growth and the fact that we are, in fact, in Feralas."

" _Quercus_ _Feralaensis_. Yes, Shan'do."

Teacher threw a small thing at Ellandriel, who caught it in her hands.

"Acorns, my student. _Acorns_. I haven't had an acorn in my hand since we crawled into Eldre'thalas, ashamed of our every breath. I used to gather them by the hundreds, and with some match-sticks turn them into whole families of little men." Teacher sighed. "When we hid ourselves in our ruins, Ellandriel, we could risk getting out only for the most essential of things. Food. Hides to make clothes out of. Not a few acorns. I didn't even realise how much I'd missed them until just now."

Ellandriel looked at the acorn in her hand. It was a light brown, smooth to the touch, and seemed to wear a little hat, a _cupule_ , she knew. She looked up at Teacher.

"You have never seen an acorn, have you?"

"I have, Shan'do. We read 'Flora of Kalimdor' in Lorekeeper Kildrath's biology classes."

"Books. They have their uses, but a book cannot tell you what an oak smells like when it is in bloom, nor what an acorn tastes like."

Ellandriel nodded, and produced a pocket-knife. She cut the acorn in two, and found a light brown nut inside. She put a half in her mouth, and chewed. Her eyes opened wide at the foul bitter taste, and she spat it out. Teacher burst out laughing.

"And now you do know. They taste absolutely horrible. You _can_ use them for food in a pinch, but they are better used for making a kind of coffee. Which, to be honest, also tastes horrible." Teacher sighed deeply, stood in front of Ellandriel and held her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "We really must apologise to you children. Keldorei girls your age could have told me not only the species of that oak, but how old it was, how well-developed its roots are, how healthy it is, and how it is doing competing for sunlight with the other trees. To our shame, we allowed you to be born into this, this _prison_ , that we preferred to simply finding a new place to live. You should have learnt your biology from _real_ trees, not dead ones. I promise you, I will do my best to make amends."

Ellandriel bowed her head. "Thank you, Shan'do." 

 

As the first rays of sunshine showed themselves through the branches of Feralas forest, Ellandriel and Teacher hid in the space that had opened in the ground when a large tree had fallen over. They had been traveling by night, and slept by day. Ellandriel closed her eyes, concentrated and held up her hands, palms up. On her outstretched hands, her magic wove itself into the light bread. It was an easy spell to cast. As long as there was Light, no mage need fear starvation. She handed a few pieces to Teacher, who was covering up the entrance to their hiding place with tree branches. Teacher put down sleeping furs, and stretched out, accepting the food with a small nod. When first she learnt the spells to conjure food out of thin air, Ellandriel had been delighted, and thought she'd never eat anything better. The bread tasted sweet, like honey. Though it did still one's hunger, it never quite seemed to reach one's stomach. They had been relying on it for a week now. She chewed, and felt the energy revive her. She should have packed more food. She longed for something _solid_. She looked at Teacher, who was stretching out, after removing an inconvenient tree-root.

"Tomorrow, Thero'shan, we leave Feralas. You will take the first watch. Wake me up at mid-day." 

* * *

Mareva took Ariciel into a tavern, somewhat off the beaten track, explaining that that was where engineers tended to drink. Engineers did not mix well with the general people. Tell someone that you are an engineer, and invariably, they would end up trying to exchange cheap booze for valuable information, if they offered anything at all. Ariciel spotted an empty table and lunged for it. Mareva opened negotiations with the caregiver, and checked her mail while she was at it. She sat down at the table with a bottle in one hand, two cups in the other and a letter between her teeth. Ariciel filled both their cups while Mareva pulled a small metal object from her belt. There was a swift movement like a propeller, and the object turned into a knife. She cut open the letter from Stetson. Ariciel by now knew what to do with Qrovna, and tossed it back with a flick of the wrist. It hardly touched her taste buds at all. She looked round the inn. All round her, people were sitting, without much talk, busy with their own thoughts. Some were manipulating small devices with lights on. Ariciel was the only Elf in the place. The custom was mostly Draenei, both male and female, with the odd Human or even Gnome thrown in. They were drinking from small glasses, though here and there pints of ale could be seen. Bottles were on many of the tables. It saved them the effort of walking back and forth to the bar. It was a place where people came to forget, to recover. There were very few smiles, but there was a sense of companionship, comfort.

Without any warning, Mareva spat out a few words in her own native tongue that made several Draenei on other tables look round.

"Debaar, you bitch!"

Ariciel raised her eyebrows. "What's a Debaar?"

"It is something related to a striv that sleeps with your boyfriend."

Ariciel briefly considered asking what a striv was, but the rest of the sentence seemed more important.

"Stetson get lucky?"

"Pah. He pushed her tail for a flight to Dalaran."

"Hmm. That seems a bit over-paid."

Mareva looked at her cup, decided not to bother and took a big gulp straight from the bottle. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"I will get you another. I will need this one."

Ariciel took the bottle away from her and took a swig herself.

"I'm not carrying you home. Supposing you tell me what's up?"

"It would appear that Helmsman Debaar has attached herself to the Nessingwary expedition in Sholazar Basin. Whereupon Hunter S'dezo'houn took pity on her loneliness, and temporarily attached himself to her, in return for a flight to Dalaran. Deviant points. Gah."

"Do you know this Debaar woman? A friend of yours?"

"Fellow member of the Deviants."

Ariciel put her elbows on the table. The bottle of vile liquor dangled between her hands.

"Deviants? You've never told me about that!"

"The Deviants were one of the clubs to relieve boredom on the long trip. We would..." Mareva struggled for a polite way of putting this. Oh what the hell. "We would have sex. And give each other points based on performance."

"So you and Debaar..." Ariciel wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh yes."

"So she's a friend, then?"

Mareva pulled the bottle from between Ariciel's hands and refilled her cup.

"I could not stand the sight of the arrogant bitch. I am sure the feeling was mutual."

Ariciel nodded slowly. "Riiiight. Then why?"

"Well," said Mareva, "You can have the most amazing samplings with someone you really hate if neither of you wants to fall short of the other. So we did." An evil grin appeared on Mareva's face. "She conked out just before I did." She tossed down her drink in one gulp. "I still had to give her all the three points, though. She earned it. I was not going to be an ingrate."

"That sounds like fun. So who won?"

"Lorelei did, may she be part of the Light. But I beat Debaar's score by two. Only now, of course, with the kind help of Hunter S'dezo'houn, she is one point ahead."

"It's still going on then?"

"Goodness, no. We totalled up the final scores just before landfall. And then, the word 'landfall' acquired a whole new meaning."

Mareva looked at her cup. It was empty. She looked at the bottle, shook her head and put the cup on the table.

"Let us go to my quarters. Bring the bottle." 

 

Ariciel followed Mareva into her tiny cabin, and only now noticed a grave shortcoming in the whole 'sleeping quarters' arrangement.

"Hey! There's no bed. Where are we going to sleep?"

Mareva raised a finger, waved Ariciel to one end of the room and touched one of the marked spots on the wall. With the low hum of technology, a large double bed slid out of the wall, taking up most of the floorspace. Mareva pointed at it.

"That bed was my secret weapon in the Deviants. It is robust. It does not creak. It does not move. It is large enough for two. Much more pleasant than the bunks other people had to make do with. I earned this cabin with some emergency repairs when they were most needed to lift Exodar off Draenor.

"So you and the other... Deviants. You were constantly in each other's beds?"

Mareva sighed. "It was a stupid game. It passed the time. I wasn't good enough to join the chess players. I already lived science while at work. Mathematics is dull. I am not musically gifted. So why not?"

"Didn't your boyfriend object?"

Mareva's eyes softened with the memories. "Viral and I joined the Deviants together. He and I would compare notes, before going to sleep. I felt better sleeping in his arms than I did doing... other things, even with the best. He rarely got fewer than three points, but it is relatively uncommon for our men to desire each other, so I had more opportunities. I must admit that I do prefer the company of males, but there were points to be earned, and I am quite good with either."

"Heh. I know."

"I still think using magic is cheating," said Mareva.

"Well, all you had to do was say stop."

Mareva yawned. "I did not say I disapproved. Let us go to sleep. We have to leave early tomorrow to catch the ferry."

They stepped out of their clothes. Ariciel sat up in a corner of the bed, and Mareva lay down with her head in Ariciel's lap. Mareva closed her eyes for a while. Ariciel thought she'd fallen asleep, but then, she spoke.

"We never told each other that we would not enjoy the company of others."

"Mm?"

"I know that Hunter S'dezo'houn will not leave me because of her. He took pity on a lonely girl. She did him a favour in return."

"Yes," said Ariciel. She ran her fingers through Mareva's smooth dark hair.

"He did not try to hide it from me. He probably thought we were friends and I would enjoy hearing news of her."

"How was he to know?"

"Precisely. Stetson has done nothing wrong. So speaks the brain."

"But," said Ariciel.

"But the liver wishes to kick him." Mareva opened her eyes and looked up at Ariciel. "Debaar, I already wanted to kick, so now I simply wish to kick her harder."

"Well, you're in a nice comfortable cabin with your favourite Night-elf. She's in the middle of nowhere. Alone. Probably being eaten alive by midges."

"Dragons," said Mareva.

"Midges take longer," said Ariciel.

Mareva took a deep breath. Then, she shook her head. "This is not helpful. We have not forsaken all others. I still love him. He still loves me. He will probably never see Debaar again in his life. Stetson can amuse himself with whomever he likes. So can I."

Ariciel's fingers were still playing with Mareva's hair, twining it into little strands. They looked into each other's eyes, hesitating. Then, at the same time, they smiled. Ariciel shook her head.

"You know I'd never refuse you, normally, but..."

"Bannog."

"No, not that. Bannog's told me he doesn't mind you. He didn't mind Lesta."

Mareva raised her arm and touched Ariciel's cheek.

"I am sorry I never met her. Was she beautiful?"

"More than you can imagine."

"That is always helpful when dealing with men," said Mareva.

"I'm drunk," said Ariciel. "That Qrovna of yours is nasty stuff. I've only ever done it twice after too much drink. Neither was a success. I don't think tonight is a night for athletics or magic."

Mareva closed her eyes.

"I agree," she said.

Ariciel waited a while for more words, but none came. A few minutes later, Mareva's breathing became regular.

"And there you have it," said Ariciel. "Night-elf Druids. Feral combat, healing, long-range firepower. And solace for the broken-hearted."

With care, she maneuvered herself out from under Mareva, put a pillow under her head and lay down next to her, one arm round her waist.

"Somebody better take note of this for when I need hugs and cuddles." 


	4. Ouch!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellandriel has a fun and educational meeting with the wildlife native to the Shimmering Flats…

Stetson stood on the green grass of Krasus' Landing, in the floating city of Dalaran. The noisy machine had flown off as soon as he got out, and Stetson was happy for it to leave. Gnomish technology had its place, but as far as he was concerned, he did not have to be in the same place. Morgan bumped his head against his thigh, and almost thoughtlessly, Stetson pulled out a few lumps of meat and gave them to his large cat. He surveyed his surroundings. It was busy. People were constantly flying in, and flying out. He was surprised to see among the visitors even Orcs, Tauren and Blood-elves. Debaar had warned him about this. The Kirin Tor, who ruled this city, apparently not only allowed them, but invited them, and did not allow their Alliance visitors to give them what they richly deserved. Anyway, ripping the heads off Blood-elves' stick-like bodies, enjoyable though it might be, was not what he was here to do.

Stetson walked over to the flight master, a slender Elf-like figure, with long blonde locks of hair. Stetson was not fooled. The man might look like a blood-elf, but for some reason, Dragons had adopted this form to use when they had dealings with the smaller races. He could be anything.

"Chronakai Christor," said Stetson. "I am wondering whether I might ask you a question."

"Certainly", said the flight master, named Aludane Whitecloud. "Where do you wish to fly?"

"That depends," said Stetson. "I am searching for my brother. He is similar in appearance to myself, but he was turned into a Death Knight. Has any such person passed through this place?"

"Perhaps," said the flight master. "Many of the Death Knights are attempting to redeem themselves through working against the Scourge. A futile gesture. They cannot undo the damage they did, and it is debatable whether they are obliged to try, given that their thoughts and actions were under the control of the Lich King when they committed the atrocities they did."

Stetson nodded. "Be that as it may, he is still my brother. I must help him find peace, one way or another. His name is Garz'houn, but I have been told that he goes by the name of Paxvobiscum."

"I do not remember such a person," said Whitecloud. "But then, the study of Mortals is not one of my occupations. He may have passed this way. Many of the former servants of the Lich King do.

"And you welcome them."

"They are more than willing to aid us against the Scourge. We would be fools to deny them the opportunity. After all, we also welcome the exiles of Argus, despite the destruction they have visited upon Kalimdor."

"I came through the Portal," said Stetson.

"Indeed. It is hard to say, between Exodar and the Dark Portal, which was the most harmful."

"At least we Draenei did not make the Dark Portal."

"That is true. Forgive me for not saying so more clearly. At any rate, I do not know your brother. Do you still wish to fly on one of our griffins?"

Stetson thought a moment. He could only fly back to Sholazar, as he had no other locations in these lands. Garz'houn was not likely to be there.

"No, thank you. Good day to you." 

 

Following the rest of the visitors, Stetson walked down the stairs, with Morgan staying close behind him, occasionally pushing his head into the back of his knee. Dalaran was a place of wizards, and had been, even when the city was still in the Eastern Kingdoms. The wizards of the Kirin Tor had moved it by magic, so that now, it floated high above Crystalsong Forest. Since the day was getting on, he made towards one of the taverns, called "A Hero's Welcome". The food was good, the ale was refreshing, and he could even get food for Morgan. He settled his bill and walked out of the tavern, not quite knowing what to do next. He had been lucky in Sholazar Basin. Hunter Debaar had remembered his brother. Here, the trail went cold. He sighed. Presumably, Garz'houn was still on the move. This place was a transportation hub for this area. Rather than run after him, Stetson could wait. It would take longer, and there was no guarantee that Garz'houn would pass this way, but patience is a virtue that all hunters develop. If he kept an eye on the flight point, he would eventually catch his brother. 

 

The hairs in Stetson's neck stood up. Someone was watching him. He kept looking ahead, and kept his pace. The syllables he used to call forth his tracking spell were in his mind. Just before he started to whisper the incantation, a hand was on his shoulder.

"Paxvobiscum?"

A chill went up Stetson's spine. The voice that had spoken, sounded wrong. Slowly he turned round. Behind him stood a Human woman. Stetson's eyes were immediately drawn to her face. Dark, short hair, pale skin, magically glowing eyes. There was a feeling about her of power that she had been given, if 'given' was the right word. Power that she would never have obtained in the normal course of Human development, nor would have wanted to. Her lips were trembling, as the Death Knight called out the name again.

"Paxvobiscum? How were you... restored?"

"I am not Paxvobiscum," said Stetson.

The woman's gaze turned down. "I... I understand. But I do not know your name from Days Before."

"I have never named myself Paxvobiscum," said Stetson. "Though the name is known to me. Where have you heard it?"

The woman blinked, turned her eyes to the ground. It took her only a moment to get herself under control. When she looked up, her face was hard as stone.

"He was one of the platoon in which I served. We stood together at Light's Hope Chapel. You look like he would have looked, before the Change."

"His name from the Days Before was Garz'houn," said Stetson. "My name is S'dezo'houn. He is my brother."

The woman took a deep breath. "You are looking for him."

"Yes."

"Are you hoping to cure him?"

Stetson scratched his neck. "I am not a priest. Even if there were a cure for your... condition, it would be beyond me. All I can hope for is to put his mind at ease."

"Futile," said the woman. "We have done terrible things under the thrall of the Lich King. We don't deserve to be at ease. The best we can hope for is to prevent him from doing more damage, and then to die."

"I refuse to believe that before I see him," said Stetson. "He is family. We Draenei do not have so much family that we can afford to give up on them that easily. I owe it to him at least to try."

The woman shrugged. "If you must see for yourself, I suggest you see Thassarian. He is the head of the order of the Ebon Blade. I met him last in the Wailing Ziggurat in the Borean Tundra. Do not indulge in too much hope."

"Thassarian of the Ebon Blade. I will seek him out. Thank you for the information."

"Don't thank me. It will help you nothing."

"Do not lose faith," said Stetson. "Things are rarely as bad as they seem."

The woman gave him a look, but offered no opinions. We are done here, her eyes seemed to say. He gave her a polite nod, and made to leave. Something occurred to him.

"I almost forgot. What is your name?"

"I don't remember. I am now known as Kenau." 

 

Stetson touched down in Valiance Keep, after a long flight, all the way from Dalaran. Flight masters here were expensive. Perhaps it was time to sell some more of his stacks of leather, or even go out on a brief skinning expedition. Problem was, there wasn't any time. Oh well.

It was a clear night, but a noisy one. The town of Valiance Keep was never quiet. Stetson put Morgan in kennels for the night, and walked towards the inn. Inns did not generally appreciate hunters' pets in their bedrooms. He dropped his luggage in his room and looked at the bed. It was sadly deficient in Draenei Shaman. He thought of Mareva, all the way over in Kalimdor. Or would she be back yet, on what was left of Draenor? He walked out of the inn for a breath of fresh air before turning in. He imagined Mareva walking next to him, pointing out bits of architecture or especially bad mistakes in street design. He looked at the stars. Mareva would hate this place. Too much filth, nastiness. Unsavoury spirits drifting through the night. War never brought out the best in people, and Humans seemed to amplify every emotion. The good ones were very good. The bad ones were worse than garbage. Stetson sighed, shook his large head and turned round to go back to the inn.

There was a loud noise and a hard blow to the back of his head. Stetson fell to his hands and knees. Someone kicked him, and he fell flat on his face.

"I told you I'd get you!" 

* * *

Sand. Endless stretches of sand. Sand between her teeth, sand in her boots, sand in her clothes. She was chewing on sand. The parts of this place that weren't sand were impossibly high, impossibly thin spires of stone. Amazingly, the place was not completely empty of life. Wind serpents flitted here and there on the thermals. Poisonous nasty flying newts, unfit for food. Teacher walked on, seemingly deep in thought. They had been travelling by night, to stay out of the sight of unfriendly eyes. Even so, they'd had to hide several times. Orcs had walked by on business of their own, and Ellandriel had seen large cow-like creatures, Tauren, outside of a book for the first time. Teacher took off a long red scarf. They had both been wearing scarves on their faces to keep the sand out, with limited success. Teacher shook it out and grinned at Ellandriel before putting it back on.

"This is no place for a Night-elf of noble birth, Thero'shan Ellandriel. _This_ is what you get when you leave Keldorei in charge. A small river or a few springs would not have come amiss, don't you agree?"

"I have some water, Shan'do," said Ellandriel, reaching for her bottle.

"Save it. We will be needing it. Conjuring water in this place is understandably a bit taxing. Perhaps we should organise a party of mages here and flood the place, for the benefit of future travellers. Oh well. We'll soon leave Thousand Needles, and then we'll be in the Shimmering Flats. Which will _still_ be a sandpit, but it will be _firm_ sand. I have some business there, and then we'll go North, to where the lands are less arid.

As they trudged on, Teacher became less and less talkative, walking on with hunched shoulders, and sometimes stopped to look round, muttering words Ellandriel couldn't quite catch.

"Shan'do? Is something the matter?"

Teacher answered only with a small shake of the head.

"There isn't, and there is. _We_ did this, Thero'shan. Once, this desert _was_ a river. The Shimmering Flats were a lake. And then, the Great Sundering came, and the very mountains were moved. The Keldorei did not banish us for nothing."

"I know of this. It is described in the tomes of Lore. Queen Azshara wished to enlist the aid of the Titan-lord Sargeras. She created a great portal to allow him entry into Azeroth. The mages were attacked, and the spell failed, bringing on the Great Sundering."

"Indeed they were, and a very good thing it was, too. Sargeras! If he had entered Azeroth, Thero'shan, neither you or I would be here today. Better to rip asunder all of Kalimdor, killing millions, than allow that to happen and kill _everyone_." Teacher scowled behind the scarf. "Better still, not to invite limitless Powers in in the first place. I did argue against it, but to what end? Limitless power. Who can resist it? In the end, it became positively dangerous to dissent. So I gave up, and simply left. And then I entered Eldre'thalas, only to find that Prince Tortheldrin was toying with yet another creature from the Twisting Nethers." Teacher looked at the floor, with a sad, sad expression. "Why do I even bother? Why bother protesting at all? That this place is now a barren desert is still as much my fault as it is anyone's."

"Surely, Teacher, you opposed those who would bring such destruction to Azeroth. They ignored your counsel, so you are blameless."

"I should have opposed with more force. Perhaps killing a few of the proponents." Teacher sighed. "Never mind. What's done is done. So. On to the Shimmering flats, Honoured Student. If we are lucky, we can leave Thousand Needles behind us before daybreak." 

 

Ellandriel cupped her hands in front of her, closed her eyes and let the magic flow. From an area miles around her, drops of water too tiny for the eye to see were drawn towards her hands. This was a different spell than that used to conjure bread. Magical bread would dissolve into nothing if left for too long. That would be impractical for bottles of water. As she felt the cup of her hands fill up with lukewarm, perfectly clear water, she carefully allowed it to flow into the bottle Teacher was holding underneath them. Teacher had been right. Back in Eldre'thalas, her hands would have filled up in seconds. Here, on the edge of the Shimmering Flats, it took minutes. Teacher pulled away one water-bottle and replaced it with another.

"You are doing well, Thero'shan. Keep it up."

Ellandriel made no reply, concentrating on keeping the magic, and the water, flowing. Finally, Teacher closed the last bottle.

"That'll do. Very good."

Ellandriel raised her hands to her face, and drank the rest of the water. It tasted slightly salty, which in a salt flat was only to be expected. She took two water bottles from Teacher, put them in her pack.

"Where are we going, Shan'do?"

"There is a place in the middle, or so I've been told, where we can find a Human named Magis Tirth. He has a book that I want. It contains a number of spells that I think will be most useful to us."

"What kind of spells, Teacher?"

"Rituals, mostly. They prepare the mind for more powerful spells, and save on mana. A bit like clearcasting, but more powerf-"

There was a sudden, loud noise, and seemingly from out of nowhere a gruesome creature appeared. It walked close to the ground, on six short strong legs. Its head was dragon-like, with many teeth.

"Basilisk," shouted Teacher. "Don't let it look you in the eye!"

At the sound of Teacher's voice, the basilisk turned round. Teacher raised a hand, but there was a cruel light from the basilisk's eyes and Teacher froze mid-cast.

"Get... it!" Teacher could only just utter the words, then stopped moving completely.

Ellandriel raised her hand, pointed it at the creature and cut loose. The first spell was a frost bolt. The basilisk screeched as the bolt hit it, and slowed down to a crawl. As it made its way towards her, Ellandriel kept hitting the basilisk with blasts of arcane energy. Just like in target practice, she felt the blasts get heavier and heavier until she reached the place in her head where thoughts flowed freely, and spellcasting became effortless. She reached for the spells in her head, and from her hand, silvery arrows sped towards the basilisk, tearing it to shreds. In desperation, the monster lit up its eyes.

"Oh no you don't," said Ellandriel. She closed her eyes and blinked. With not even a whisper, her body shot twenty yards forward. She whirled around, and hit the basilisk from behind. It tried to turn round on its six legs, but then staggered, fell over and lay down screaming until Ellandriel's spells finished it off.

Ellandriel stood leaning on her staff, breathing hard. The wonderful trance of calm evaporated, and she started shaking. She looked at Teacher, who was still standing in the same casting stance as before, fingers slowly starting to move. Ellandriel ran up, wondering what to do. After an anxious minute, Teacher started to move an arm, swaying on unsteady feet. Ellandriel wrapped her arms round her teacher, and turned the fall into a controlled descent. Teacher's head swayed round at Ellandriel.

"Congratulations you're up it's down nice use of Arcane Missiles even if bit slow Blink was unnecessary I think it was almost down anyway eight marks out of ten welldone." Teacher slumped, lips moving without words.

Ellandriel looked over her shoulder at the dead basilisk. Its limbs were still slowly twitching. There was a screech in the air, and carrion birds, attracted by goodness only knew what, started to descend. Ellandriel closed her eyes and shivered, even in the heat of the desert.

"Shan'do? Can you walk?"

"Give minute... ahh, it's wearing off." Teacher looked round, grabbed hold of Ellandriel's shoulder and sat up. "Thero'shan, you have just saved me the embarrassment of dying to one of these uncouth beasts."

Ellandriel smiled. "They are not the proper adversaries for the High-borne, Shan'do. If you can walk, then let's go."

Teacher got up, then gave Ellandriel a look. "My student, you have just earned the grade of 'Useful In A Fight'. There is only one correct answer to the question of 'them or us', and you got it right."

"Thank you, Shan'do," said Ellandriel. 

* * *

Ariciel walked up the stairs to the Cenarion Enclave tree dwelling, to be greeted by a big grin from Mathrengyl Bearwalker. He walked up and gave her a big bear hug, almost lifting her off the ground, then held her shoulders in his hands and looked at her face.

"Ariciel! It's good to see you. How is life?"

Ariciel gave him a wavering smile.

"Well enough. Things good and ill. Mostly good, though. Did Lirael make it home alright?"

"Saw her in Saelienne's a week ago, so she's upright and running. Beyond that, ask her." He looked over Ariciel's shoulder. "And this charming lady, I assume, is your Draenei friend?"

"Yes. Mathrengyl Bearwalker, meet Mareva, Shaman of Exodar."

Mathrengyl bowed his head to Mareva. "Ariciel told me about you. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," said Mareva. "I deny everything."

Ariciel laughed. "Oh, I told him nothing but good things about you."

"Precisely."

Bearwalker gave Mareva his winning grin. "I must admit that the way of the Elements does intrigue me. It is completely different from our own magic, and doesn't even require connection to the Light."

"The Elemental Spirits are not easily moved to speak to us," said Mareva. "But when they do, the experience is profound. The Elemental Spirits were there before there was Light, but they were without purpose, without direction. Then the Light Everlasting shone, and the Elements moved. Life was begun. Light, as it travels through space, is invisible. We only perceive it when it touches something, and then touches our eyes. The Elements exist to be touched by the Light. The Light exists to touch the Elements. All things that are, are connected."

Bearwalker smiled. "We are the stuff of the Elements, but it is the Light that makes us move, strive."

"Yes."

"To look at only the Light, or only at the Elements, is to see only half the story. The poor Broken Draenei only heard the voice of the Elemental Spirits when the Light was hidden from them by the magics of the Burning Legion. You are blessed, Mareva. You are connected to both. Still, I wonder. If we turned away from both the Light and the Elements, what more would we see?"

"Our own selves," said Mareva. "We consist of the elements. We are thrust forward by the Light. Our minds give us direction, for good or for evil, or most likely, a mixture of both."

Ariciel wondered how old Mareva was. She'd always assumed her to be about her own age, mentally if not physically. She seemed much older, now. And then, she grinned, and was Ariciel's age again.

"Would you care to continue this discussion over drinks sometime? I find that philosophy is much enhanced by just the right amount of, well, spirit."

Bearwalker laughed. "When my duties allow, certainly. Saelienne does a wonderful strawberry mead when the mood takes her. Tell her I sent you. Ariciel can show you where it is. Oh. Before I forget. Ariciel, give me your hand for a moment?"

Ariciel did. She felt the familiar rush as a new spell settled in her mind. She frowned.

"Cat shape? But I already have that!"

"Try it. It's a free update. Some of our spellsmiths have too much time on their hands."

Ariciel took a breath, and changed. She looked up at Bearwalker. Well? Bearwalker walked to a cupboard and produced a mirror. Ariciel took a breath. Where once, she had been a deep dark bluish black, she was now white, bordering on grey. She noted that she also had a collar now, with pretty bangles. She took a few steps, looking at herself.

"Hmm, I look [Rrrowr]!" said Ariciel, in Wildspeech.

"Heh. You do, don't you? The spellsmiths have made your fur reflect the colour of your hair. It is not entirely gratuitous and cosmetic. It allows us to tell you apart more easily in shapes. Your bear shape has also been changed. Which reminds me. Come back, please?"

Ariciel dropped her cat shape, and looked up at Bearwalker.

"I think you're about ready for this one. Try this one outside, please." He held out a hand. Ariciel's jaw dropped as she took it.

"Dire bear?"

"Don't look so surprised. It's like your original bear shape, only stronger. Everything still works the same. It's just that you need to know how to move well as a normal bear before you try this. And you are much, much better protected from, well, unfriendly attention."

"Cool. That'll help when we get to Outland."

"Outland? What's your riding like?"

"Fairly good. Why?"

Bearwalker grinned. "Your hand, please."

Ariciel looked over her shoulder at Mareva. "We're going to be busy for a while." 

 

Ariciel walked out of the Cenarion Keep tree, a good deal lighter in gold, but her mind buzzing with new spells and possibilities. Healing. Tricks to use in bear or cat form. Upgrades to her Wrath and Moonfire spells. And one spell that Bearwalker had not told her much more about than that she should try it once she got to Outland. Mareva was walking next to her, humming to herself. She stopped, turning to her friend.

"Where are we going? I could probably be persuaded to eat something."

Ariciel thought on this. She pointed to the North. "That's where my place is, and Saelienne's Inn. Drop luggage first? Follow the bear!"

Ariciel changed to her new dire bear form. Oh my, someone had done work on this spell. She felt fierce, ready to take on anyone. She must really make some proper armour for it before going out.

"If you are going to behave like an animal, then so will I." Mareva changed to her ghost wolf form.

Ariciel simply grinned, and led the way to her small house. They stayed only long enough to drop their packs and light a small fire in the hearth to get rid of the chill. Then, they ran to Lirael's place, but she wasn't in.

"Probably in the inn," said Ariciel. "Let's go!" 

 

Ariciel could hear Mareva's stomach growl as they reached the inn's door. It was fairly busy. Ariciel looked round, and spotted Arador sitting on one of the benches. Next to him lay one of the guards of Darnassus, taking up two seats. Her head was in Arador's lap, and she had drawn up her knees so that one of the choir girls could sit next to her bootless feet. Her plate chest piece lay on the table, next to her three-bladed weapon. There was an almost cat-like sense of repose to her poise. An image that was further reinforced by Arador's hand, which was lying on her stomach, moving slowly. Arador called and waved.

"Ariciel. Good to see you! Take a chair. Have you met Silyenna?"

Ariciel frowned, not sure. Silyenna wiggled her fingers at her.

"I remember you. You came in a while back, asking for Bearwalker."

"Uh... yeah, but that was months ago."

"Hmm. It was something to do with Bearwalker. Sharpens the mind wonderfully."

"Oh I remember. He said 'The price is still the same', though I haven't a clue what he was on about."

Silyenna laughed. "He's gorgeous. Guess."

Ariciel felt something touching the back of her knees, looked round and saw that Mareva had managed to get two chairs. They sat down.

"Everybody, meet Mareva. She's hungry. So am I. Bring us food."

As though she had been summoned by magic, Saelienne the inn-keeper appeared behind their chairs.

"Druid Ariciel. What can I get for you today?"

"Stew, please. And a flagon of mead."

Saelienne nodded. "And you, Miss? I must admit that I have not cooked for the likes of you before. What do you eat, if I may ask?"

Mareva grinned, showing her fangs. "Anyone. I mean anything."

Ariciel pointed a finger. "Mareva, she is _not_ food."

"But she looks... _delicious_!"

"Yes, she does, but she brings food. She is not on the menu."

Saelienne smirked. "How about rare steak, with leeks and potatoes?"

"That will do splendidly. Trainer Bearwalker says you do strawberry mead?"

"I do. Anyone else? No?" She disappeared into the kitchen.

Ariciel leaned over to Arador.

"Is Lirael around? She wasn't at home, so I thought she might be here."

Arador shook his head. "She's in Dolanaar with Feanor. She wanted to discuss something with him about the nature of redemption as applied to Death Knights."

Silyenna grinned. "Thing is, when she says she wants to have some philosophical discussion with Feanor, I believe her, most of the time. When she says she and you are practicing music, she's really having her wicked way with you."

"A convenient euphemism," murmured Arador.

"Hmm. Know when she'll be back? We're on our way to Outland, so I'd like to see her before we leave."

"Should be tomorrow, late. If not, you might take the run to Dolanaar. Feanor lives near the inn, by the moonwell."

Ariciel looked at Mareva. "Do you mind waiting? That'll also give me the time to make some proper armour for the trip. Just got some new patterns. I could do you a set as well."

"I do not mind. I can wear chain armour these days. Nobundo taught me how to work my magic round it."

Ariciel bit her lip. "Not really my speciality. I have a pattern for fel scale armour somewhere, but no fel scale."

"I do. I bought it a while back."

Silyenna snorted. "Bah. One or two steps above the clothies. Use plate. Shoddy armour makes the squishies cry like babies when they try to heal you."

Arador poked a finger in Silyenna's midriff. "That remark will cost you."

"Wimp."

"Hmm. Your pain threshold may need some work tonight."

"I'm a Warrior. I don't have a pain threshold. Pain is just your body talking to you. Bring it on, bedsheet boy."

Mareva shook her head. "I have to admit, that kind of play never appealed to me. I do not understand. What is it that you enjoy so much about pain?"

A dream-like look came into Silyenna's eyes. "Rage," she said. "Hot, burning, delicious rage. You wouldn't believe how good it feels. He gets me just right, and I can lift him off the ground, With one arm."

"I can see where that might be useful," said Mareva, "but I can usually persuade my boyfriend to go where I need him to, without heavy lifting."

" _Chacun a son gout,_ " said Silyenna. "You don't know what you're missing."

"Some things," said Ariciel, "I'm very happy to be missing. Remember that Blood-elf, Mareva? Back in Searing Gorge?"

"Tinkerbelle," said Mareva. "How can I not remember her? Stupid nactba."

"That's her. She tried to charm Bannog into coming with her. Might have had a better chance if she hadn't proposed what she did."

"Oh? What?"

Ariciel told them. Mareva stared blankly.

"I hope I can forget that before my dinner arrives."

Arador laughed. "Oh, I've heard of that practice. They say it's actually quite pleasurable, once you set your mind over the obvious disadvantages."

Silyenna reached for her cup of wine, and took a small sip.

"Well, you know me. I'm up for anything. Two conditions, though. Your place, and I do it to you, not the other way round."

"I may be able to live with not knowing first-hand what it feels like," said Arador. 

 

Dinner arrived. Mareva promised not to eat the inkeeper, as it would be a great shame. Predictably, with many choir members present, the conversation turned to music. One of the girls, named Tiriel, had brought her lute, and unpacked it. She idly picked out a few chords.

"Your lower G-string is a bit sharp," said Arador.

"Always is," said Tiriel. She adjusted it a bit, and started a song. Ariciel sat back on her seat, a happy smile on her face. She could, when pressed, produce a few simple folk songs, but nothing like the professionals gathered here. Mareva was tapping along with one finger on the table, clearly enjoying herself as much. The song ended, to scattered clapping from the rest of the room.

"Mareva, do your people have folk songs?"

"Yes, they do. We are most famous for our operas, though."

"You've got a lovely voice," said Tiriel. "Do you sing at all?"

"No. I am afraid I cannot sing."

"Uh-oh," said Ariciel.

"What?"

"You said the magic words."

Tiriel looked accusingly at Mareva. "Everybody can sing, unless they've had their heads cut off."

"There. You've set them off now." Ariciel looked at her cup, which was half full. Should she have another one after this? She looked at Mareva. Probably not.

"I do not understand. I really do not sing."

"Nonsense," said Tiriel. "Anyone can sing."

An evil grin drifted across Mareva's face. "Is that so? Sing me your favourite song, and I will ruin it for you."

"Pah. I don't mean everybody can sing everything! But you've got a lovely mezzo voice. It's just a matter of finding the right repertoire."

"What is mezzo?"

Ariciel sat back, swirling the last of her mead in her cup. "The lowest of the low."

"Yeah," said Tiriel. "You can hit the low notes. Go on. Sing something. Anything. Just 'Lalala' if you don't know any songs."

"I do not wish to insult your feelings," said Mareva. "I am in the presence of professionals."

Ariciel leaned over to whisper in Mareva's ear.

"Sing something. Anything. Trust me, it's quicker. They even got Bannog to sing." She slowly ran her finger up Mareva's back. Mareva gave her an amused look.

"Go on," said Ariciel.

With a look that said: well, you asked for it, Mareva started. 

>   
>  Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!  
>  V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!  
> 
> 
> Akh, pod sosnoyu, pod zelenoyu,  
>  Spat' polozhite vy menya!  
>  Ay-lyuli, lyuli, ay-lyuli,  
>  Spat' polozhite vy menya.  
> 

 

Tiriel raised her hand. "Midriff! Breathe with your midriff. You won't believe what a difference that makes."

As the evening progressed, Mareva was gently introduced to the finer points of singing. She was made to stand up, put her hand on her stomach, breathe, resonate. Despite her earlier grumbling, she was enjoying herself immensely. Arador finished a song, looked at Mareva and snapped his fingers.

"I have it! Midnight songs!"

This was met with approval from the Elf crowd, and puzzled looks from Mareva.

"What are Midnight Songs?"

"Just what you need to sing," said Arador. "Your voice is perfect for it. Tiriel? Give me your lute." He turned to Mareva. "These are melancholy songs, composed in the early hours. Let's have one that doesn't make you want to slit your wrists."

"Non ex transverso, sed deorsum," said Mareva.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

Arador shrugged. "Tiriel? Misty?"

Tiriel nodded, took a breath, and started. 

>   
>  Look at me  
>  I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree  
>  And I feel like I'm clinging to a cloud,  
>  I can't understand  
>  I get misty, just holding your hand.  
> 

 

Mareva watched in rapt attention as Tiriel's sweet voice wound its way through the song. Had she simply read the lyrics, she might have found them too soppy for words, but the way Tiriel sang it, she felt like she meant every word, without any shame, without any reservation. The song ended, with a few chords on the lute. Mareva smiled.

"That was beautiful. Thank you."

"The nice thing is, they're not even that demanding on the voice. No loud passages, no great leaps. The art is putting the feeling in it."

"Quite."

"I'm sure I have the lyrics somewhere. Come back here tomorrow night, and I'll give them to you."

Mareva tapped her head. "There is no need. I was recording."

Tiriel blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Mareva repeated the first few lines.

"That is right, no?"

"Uh... yes. My goodness. You have a good memory!"

"This is easy. It has meaning. Just try to remember the startup sequence for a transdimensional computer. That is far more challenging. Rows of stupid numbers."

Arador grinned. "Alright. From the top then, Lady Mareva."

Mareva's eyes gleamed at Arador. She took a deep breath, from the midriff, and started. 

 

It was very late when Saelienne finally turfed the last of them out. Ariciel and Mareva were walking along the road to Ariciel's place. Mareva was humming one of the songs she'd heard, a melancholy tune about autumn leaves. Ariciel drew a bit closer.

"Well, you've found your voice! You're pretty good, actually."

"Hm. I never knew I had it in me. But these songs, they... move me. Even the happy ones are filled with the knowledge of passing. Also the mathematics of the chord progressions appeal to me."

Ariciel opened the door, and stepped in. Mareva followed close, and bumped into Ariciel as she stopped. She put her hand on Ariciel's shoulder to steady her. And kept it there. Ariciel looked over her shoulder. Her cheek brushed Mareva's fingers.

"Let us go to bed," said Mareva.

Ariciel gave a single nod. They stepped out of their clothes, and climbed into the bed. Mareva lay close behind Ariciel. Her fingers were gently stroking Ariciel's stomach. Ariciel closed her eyes.

"You just want to get back at Stetson for sleeping with that Debaar woman."

"Getting even is an essential part of forgiving and forgetting," said Mareva. "I will do my utmost to ensure you enjoy the experience."

"Hmm. That sounds promising, Move your hand a bit lower and I may be persuaded."

Mareva did, played with the golden ring Ariciel wore in her belly button. Ariciel sighed. Mareva's body pressed warm against her back, and she felt so comfortable. Well, perhaps...

"One thing," said Mareva, "None of that Elvish magic, please. Let us keep to things we can both do."

"Suits me," murmured Ariciel. "What did you have in mind?"

Mareva laid her hand flat on Ariciel's stomach, and slowly moved up. Ariciel felt her breath, warm in her neck, and the soft warm touch of Mareva's tongue on the underside of her ear, slowly, slowly moving. Ariciel made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and melted on the spot. Oh, it had been too long. Too long without the attention of a girl. She hadn't done this since... 

 

Mareva raised her head, and looked in surprise and concern at her friend. One moment, she was definitely enjoying herself. Now she was lying on her side on the bed, arms and legs drawn in, body shaking with quiet sobs.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"You did something, something I used to like when... she did it. I'm sorry. You must be thinking..."

Mareva sat up, and looked down on Ariciel, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Ariciel?"

Ariciel sniffed, and said nothing.

"Ariciel."

"I'll be fine."

Mareva moved, fast. She grabbed Ariciel's hand and with a swift move turned her on her back, pinning her wrists above her head. Ariciel looked up at her, startled. Mareva brushed her tears away with her hand.

"I understand. After Viral died, I could not make love to another man for a long time. I did not even try. But I am not Lesta. I am sorry for bringing back these memories."

Ariciel looked up at her Draenei friend, her face sad.

"It's not your fault. She was all cut up, Mareva. People always wonder if their loved ones suffered before they died. I know she did. Succubi know how to make you."

Mareva's long, sensitive fingers gently brushed Ariciel's cheek. What to do now? It would seem most sensible just to give up on the night. A few hours' enjoyable play did not seem to be in the cards. But if not now, then when? Assuming that Ariciel did not want to turn celibate... well partly celibate, she would go through more of these spoilt nights. Time heals all wounds, but it is not the time that heals. It is the things that happen.

"Do you remember our first time? We were sleeping outside in Winterspring. We both had just the right amount of Qrovna, and I was cold, because I had the wrong sleeping bag."

Ariciel smiled through her tears.

"You looked gorgeous, in the fire light."

Mareva raised an eyebrow. "I still look gorgeous. And now, I can sing."

"Yes."

"So," said Mareva. She made herself comfortable sitting on Ariciel's legs. "Which part of me do you like looking at most?"

"Well..."

Mareva put her finger on Ariciel's lips.

"Do not tell me. Touch me."

Ariciel raised her arm and put her hand on Mareva's cheek. Mareva put her hand on Ariciel's wrist and pressed her face into Ariciel's hand. She sighed.

"That is very sweet of you, but I was hoping for another body part."

Ariciel put both arms round Mareva's shoulders, and pulled her down on top of her. She held her tight.

"I'm fine," she said, "Thank you. Just stay away from my ear. It's still a bit raw."

Mareva lifted her head, and pushed a white lock of Ariciel's hair out of her face.

"I will find another bit of skin." 


	5. Moving nowhere fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When last we saw Hunter S'dezo'houn, he was being beaten up by far too many Humans. Let's see how he is doing. Meanwhile, Ellandriel is confronted with a difficult moral problem in the Shimmering Flats. Luckily it's someone else's. Over in Darnassus, Lirael explains why nobody likes Death Knights by slapping Ariciel in the face.

Stetson lay on the ground, trying to roll with the blows and punches of the Humans who'd jumped him. There were at least three attackers. One of them was kicking him in the head, one in the stomach, and a third or fourth was hitting him with a piece of wood. He tried to grab for people's arms and legs, but to no avail. Someone's boot stamped down on his hand, and he cried out. Someone kicked him under the tail, and he gasped. What bastard had told people to kick Draenei there? He tried to roll away, only for a piece of wood to land on his back. There was another hard blow to the base of his skull. Stetson did the last thing he could. With a final gasp, he withdrew his mind from his body, making his heart slow down. His breathing stopped. Then, blessed blackness closed in, and he knew no more. 

 

"There, you blue bastard! Told you I'd get back at you. That's what happens to squid-goats who try to cheat me!"

"Mitch... I think he's dead." Someone put a finger on Stetson's neck, feeling for a pulse and finding nothing. "Shit! We killed him!"

"Good. Get his stuff. That ought to be enough for what he owes me."

They pulled off Stetson's leather armour, emptied his pockets, then disappeared down the alleyway. 

 

A few minutes later, Stetson slowly opened his eyes. He tried to move. Stabs of pain shot through his knee, his fingers. He groaned. Feigning death was a Hunter's trick, for when you were overwhelmed by enemies. It did leave you at their mercy, but sometimes, they'd fall for it. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes. He didn't like to do what he was going to do now, which was to use the birth-right of all Draenei. It was a Gift of the Naaru. A prayer of healing, to be used when all other help had failed. To petition the Naaru with his petty problems seemed disrespectful to him, but he had no other option. The other reason he didn't like to do this, was that it involved getting hurt first. Stetson gasped as the Gift was bestowed on him. His muscles stiffened, then relaxed. Bones fused. Wounds closed, inside and out. The shining rune faded from above his head, and he took a deep breath.

"For your help, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Shining Ones."

Stetson got to his hooves. He was wearing nothing but his underwear. Blood was on his face, dirt stuck to him. The innkeeper gave him a single glance as he walked in, then quickly looked away. Stetson walked up the stairs to his room, and opened his pack. Out of this, he took the armour that he had meant to wear when he met his brother. Just in case the answer to the obvious question was "No". He pulled on the heavy metal-reinforced leather trousers, the chainmail vest. He fit the bracers, shoulders, boots, and put a thin necklace round his neck, rings on his fingers. The warm glow of the magical jewels coursed through his body. He pulled on heavy gauntlets, and punched one hand with the other. Finally, he put on his helm. He stomped down. People hurriedly got out of his way as he marched out of the door, to the stable master to fetch Morgan, then out into the small square where he'd last seen the recruitment queue. He closed his eyes and whispered the syllables of his tracking spell. The night lit up with the souls of Dwarves, Gnomes, Elves... Humans. Concentrating deeply, he found his mark.

"Come, Morgan. Slay all who attack me." 

 

It was one of those taverns, unknown to the rulers of the town, that attracted the lowest of the low. The forgotten people, or those who wanted to be forgotten. This is where you found the serious drunks, rogues, thieves, used-up prostitutes looking for undiscerning customers. The windows were shuttered, letting none of the light out. Stetson stood by the door, and extended his senses once again. There, behind that door was Mitchell Bailey. Stetson took two steps back, then kicked the door, which splintered off its hinges. He stood in the empty doorway. His glowing eyes were mirrored by the eyes of his cat Morgan, standing next to him.

"Chronakai Christor," said Stetson.

Mitchell Bailey was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, bottle in front of him. Stetson stepped forward, fixing him with a stare. Morgan followed him, growling. Stetson reached over the table and pulled Bailey close.

"Where are my things," said Stetson.

Mitchell Bailey's face grimaced, in a caricature of a smile. "Sold it," he said. "Drank it all." He held up his bottle for Stetson to see.

There was a noise behind him, and a growl from Morgan. Some enterprising person had thought to hit Stetson from behind with a length of wood. Morgan had taken against this, and attacked. Blood was on his jaws, and the would-be attacker lay bleeding on the ground. A good part of the clientele at this point decided that the night would be better continued elsewhere and made themselves scarce. This left only Mitchell Bailey and a a couple of handsfull of his cronies. Stetson dropped Bailey, and looked round. Thugs. Armed with table legs and the occasional switch-blade. There was the noise of glass breaking in front of Stetson, and Mitchell Bailey raised the broken bottle.

"Oh, thank you," said Stetson. "That is exactly what I wanted you to do."

Stetson kicked forward, and sent Bailey flying across the room. Around him, the others closed in.

"Morgan! Slay all you see!"

The large snow panther's eyes glowed briefly in response, and he leapt upon the first attacker. Morgan's teeth closed on his shoulder, and with one shake of his head, the thug's arm came loose. Morgan didn't even wait for the Human to die before continuing to the next. Stetson's swords were too large to use in these cramped quarters, so he drew a pair of hunting daggers that he'd traded with one of his friends, years ago. They had the wrong enchantments on them for fighting Humans, but they were fast. Against these enemies, it made no difference. There was a blow to his back, turned by his armour. Stetson whirled round on one hoof and stabbed out at the Human who'd hit him with a club. The thug slumped against a table, fell down and didn't get up again.

Behind him, Stetson heard Morgan yelp. One of the thugs had scored a hit with a knife, to his cat's face. Stetson's face darkened. Ignoring blows to his arms and back for now, he cast a spell of mending on Morgan, and saw the wound close and disappear. Then, he leapt forward at the Human who'd hit his cat. With rapid movements, he stabbed the man in the chest, stomach, throat. He finished with a punch to the face.

He roared.

All the Humans who still could, ran. Those who could not, crawled. This included Mitchell Bailey. Ignoring the others, Stetson stomped over, and picked him up. Bailey tried to stab him with his bottle, but Stetson grabbed his wrist and slammed his hand into the wall till he dropped it. His large fist closed on Mitchell Bailey's throat.

"You are not going to need any more drink."

With one massive hand, he lifted Mitchell Bailey off the ground by his throat. Looking into the man's eyes, he closed his fist, and held him up till he stopped struggling. Bailey's eyes became vacant. There was a growl behind him from Morgan. Stetson looked round and saw Morgan's tail disappear out of the door.

"Morgan! Follow! Do not attack unless I say!"

Morgan walked back into the room, with an almost disappointed look on his face. Stetson looked back at the Human still hanging from his arm. He made a disgusted noise and dropped the body onto the floor. He called his cat to him, checking him for wounds that needed mending. There were none. Stetson grabbed his cat's mane, then scratched him between the ears.

"Thank you, my friend. We needed to explain to these Humans why they should stay away from Draenei Hunters."

He got up, and looked round. The interior of the tavern hadn't been much to talk of anyway, so no great loss.

"We may have worn out our welcome here, Morgan. Let's go."

They left the pub, and set off for the Borean Tundra. 

* * *

Mareva opened her eyes. The soothing sound of rain was on the roof of the small house. A fire was burning in the fireplace, and the kettle was just about to come to the boil. She took a deep breath, taking in the wholesome scents of the world-tree Teldrassil. This was a nice place. It was small, but comfortable. Ariciel hadn't changed it much when she moved in, so presumably the previous owners had placed the bed just so that they could look out over their small garden in the morning, out of a paned glass window. Her Night-elf friend was out in the rain, doing her morning staff practice. The silly woman wasn't wearing anything at all. She probably thought that she was safe, with the house between her and town. Mareva pulled the lovely warm blankets up to her chin. Just a few more minutes. The sight of her friend's graceful, powerful body outside exercising made her tail itch, but there was getting even and there was getting more than even. She sighed, and got up. Outside, Ariciel was winding down her exercise. Mareva saw the teapot on the table and poured the boiling water. Then, she found a towel in one of the drawers and hung it over a chair by the fire. Ariciel came in, a wild smile on her face, water dripping from her hair onto the floor.

"Hmm... Tea. Lovely! Give me a hug!"

Mareva put her hand on Ariciel's chest, keeping her well away.

"You are wet and cold. Warm up and dry first. What possessed you to go out skyclad, in the pouring rain?"

"Saves me having to dry my clothes," said Ariciel.

Mareva picked up the warm towel and dried her back for her. Then, since she was holding the towel already, she did her front as well. She looked into Ariciel's eyes. Ariciel looked back. There was no hint of her breakdown last night in that look, full of energy. The memories once more safely under lock and key.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better," said Ariciel. "You?"

"I am much restored. I may even forgive my big hunter his transgressions if he grovels appropriately."

"Good. Well, I think breakfast first, then off to the bank to get some stacks of heavy leather. If you have fel scales, we can try that as well." 

 

Mareva stood in the middle of the room. She was wearing only bits of paper over her underwear, stuck together with pins. Ariciel was kneeling in front of her, measuring her up for bits of leather. She'd had to borrow some tools to work the fel scale that would go into Mareva's chest piece. That was already done, and lying on the table. The door opened, and Lirael walked in. She stood still, looking at them.

"Hi! Am I interrupting something beautiful?"

Ariciel looked round and grinned. "Too late. Should have been here last night."

Mareva raised an eyebrow. How wonderfully relaxed these Elves were discussing their... entertainment. She looked at Lirael, who didn't even bat an eyelid.

"Oh, last night, I was having a chat with Feanor."

"Yeah, Arador said. Something about Death Knights."

"Hm. Yes. They really have the worst deal out of it."

Ariciel carefully removed the pins from the paper on Mareva's legs, laid the moulds on a piece of leather and started cutting the shapes.

"It's not a bundle of laughs for their victims either. Bloody freaks."

Lirael looked out of the window. "They know. That's part of the problem. They have enormous amounts of guilt over the deeds they did when they were under the thrall of the Lich king."

Ariciel fitted two pieces of leather together, and held them up to Mareva's leg. Draenei legs were interesting in many ways. She stood up, and looked round for her awl and some rune thread.

"And rightly so. Bastards."

Lirael gave Ariciel a look. Moving quick as water, she grabbed Mareva's wrist and slapped Ariciel across the face with Mareva's hand.

"Oi! What's that good for?"

"Who are you angry with, me or Mareva?"

"Um... you?"

Lirael nodded. "Right. But that's because you can see it was me who slapped you. Now if I'd have mind-controlled Mareva instead, then who would you have been angry at?"

"Um. Ah."

"Exactly. The Death Knights get blamed for all the things they did, because people can't see it was really the Lich King who did it. So they're hard to like really."

Ariciel gave Lirael a look. "Did you have to slap me to explain that?"

"Why not?" Lirael turned her cheek to Ariciel, closed her eyes and screwed up her face. "Hit me back if you want."

Ariciel giggled, and ran a finger over Lirael's cheek. "I break the vicious circle of violence. Love overcomes all." She put her hand over her stomach, and stared ahead, wide eyed. A dopy smile was on her face. "I feel all warm and fuzzy inside now."

"I do not," said Mareva. She slapped Lirael on the back of the head. "You made me hit my friend, you evil creature."

Lirael laughed. "And there you have it. The whole Death Knight problem explained with some light violence." She shook her head. "That's not all, though. To make one Death Knight takes the living essence of many victims. The spirit that was in the body of the Death Knight when they were made is still the dominant one, but the ones sacrificed to make them, they leave... images. Memories. Feelings. With every breath they take, every beat of their heart, they are acutely aware that they have stolen their existence from the living. They really are abominations of Nature. That they didn't ask for it, doesn't change that."

Mareva rubbed her chin. "And still they are alive. For certain values of 'Alive'. They are sentient creatures, and have the rights due all living things. They are free to pursue what happiness they can. We cannot hold them responsible for what, in effect, the Lich King did through them." She frowned. "Or rather, we can, but we should not. They were reborn the day the Lich King lost control of them."

"Yes. But try explaining that to people who've just lost their family to them. And even the Death Knights themselves sometimes think they should have tried harder to resist the will of the Lich King." She sat down at the table, looking at Ariciel, who was stitching together pieces of leather for Mareva's leg armour. She sighed.

"Many of them commit suicide. They simply cannot go on existing, knowing that someone else should have the Light they are using. Others try to make amends, somehow. Usually by fighting the Scourge. Some go insane. Some still believe in the Lich King, in spite of everything. Feanor spoke with a sentry who had been turned. She had returned to her family, but they would have nothing to do with her. Feanor could only just keep her from jumping off the edge. He talked to her for hours." Tears welled up in Lirael's eyes. "In the end, she looked at peace. She smiled at Feanor, thanked him for his words." Lirael took a deep breath. "Then, she jumped, before he could do anything. May her poor soul find rest and renewal."

"Maybe for the best," said Ariciel. "I can't imagine any of them living happily ever after. Would you want to live in the same place as a walking collection of diseases?"

Lirael frowned. "Nobody is beyond redemption. There are thousands of Death Knights. I don't know how much time any of them have left, but they have a right to live out their lives and try to find peace."

"Each day is a blessing," said Mareva. "If I were turned, then I would try to honour those who had died for my continued existence."

Ariciel handed her the stiff leather armour. "Try these on? I want to see how they fit before I add the fel scale."

Mareva stepped into her new trousers, and slapped her thighs. Then she pointed. "They pinch slightly here. Otherwise, they are good."

"Hmm. I'll adjust it a bit." Ariciel pulled out some of the stitches and stretched the leather. "Better?"

"Yes."

Lirael got up. "I think I'll go home, and think on it a bit more. Maybe write some of it down." She sighed, and smiled. "Maybe it'll get me some merit points. When are you leaving?"

Mareva and Ariciel looked at each other.

"I'll have our armour ready this evening. So I suppose tomorrow morning. Are you going to be in the tavern?"

Lirael nodded.

"Right. See you there, then." 

 

Lirael stood still for a moment. It had stopped raining. The clouds were parting, and here and there, a wavering patch of sunshine made its way to the treetops. She drew her sleeve across her face, and set off home. 

* * *

"Hello there! Come to watch the race?"

Ellandriel looked up. She was sitting underneath a structure clearly built by the Gnomes, Goblins and Humans so they could have some shade in this desert. She scraped up her finest Common, and answered the Human girl who bent over her.

"Nay, Lady. My Teacher has business here, and I am here only for the shade and quiet."

The Human girl laughed, with a face well-used to laughing. Ellandriel couldn't help but notice her clothes. They seemed to be tailored for a girl a little smaller. Human men would probably quite like the effect, Humans being rather... physical in their affections.

"Ain't gonna be quiet for much longer, sweetie. I'm about to start the race."

"Race? Like a horse race?"

"Yeah, kinda. Only the horses ain't horses but... well see. They're at the start line."

Ellandriel got to her feet, and looked between the planks at the place where a black and white banner was suspended between poles. Underneath, Gnomes and Goblins were working on their machines. Ellandriel sighed. She'd come here to get away from the noise of banging hammers and screaming metal. She looked back at the girl. The girl noticed her staring and grinned.

"Like my outfit? Not showing too much cleavage am I?"

Ellandriel had never heard the word before, but could work out from context that it was probably something to do with the girl's breasts.

"Lady, I am not sure that I know what amount of 'cleavage' is appropriate. It appears to be, um, adequate."

The girl laughed. "It's a trick question, sweetie! You can _never_ have too much cleavage." She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. "The Gnomes are paying me ten silver to distract the Goblins at the start."

"Isn't that cheating, Lady?"

"Not really. The Goblins are paying me _fifteen_ silver to distract the Gnomes. Do you think I should distract the Gnome more than the Goblin?"

"Um..." Ellandriel was quite lost in this labyrinth of racing ethics.

"Oh well. I'll just wing it." The girl winked at Ellandriel, and walked out to the starting line in a way that drew rather a lot of attention to her long legs. As Ellandriel watched, she bent over first the Gnome, then the Goblin and put her lips to their helmets. Whether it distracted them was hard to say from the distance. The girl walked to the center of the track, produced a flag from her pocket, raised it, then dropped it. With an enormous roar, the machines sprung to life, and zoomed off into the distance. The girl looked after them for a while, then walked back to Ellandriel.

"Well, there you go. That's another step closer to my trip to Theramore." The girl looked sadly at Ellandriel. "Haven't seen my folks for ages. Anyway, you look lost. If you want anything, I can probably tell you where to get it. I'm Daisy. I'm in the bar. Come see me."

"An it please you, Lady Daisy. My name is Ellandriel."

Daisy smiled, waved and walked off. Teacher walked up, carrying two pinkish blobs of goo in cones, in either hand. Ellandriel was still staring at Daisy. There was something faintly hypnotic in the way she walked. Teacher put one of the cones in her hand. It dripped pink stuff on her wrist. She looked up.

"It's food. It is pink and sweet, and therefore strawberry icecream. Try it, before it melts."

Ellandriel nodded, and bit into her icecream. The cold of it surprised her. Teacher sat down on one of the benches, eating the ice cream. Ellandriel took the next seat.

"I trust your business went well, Shan'do?"

"Sadly, no. The stupid man sold his last copy to someone from the Scarlet Monastery, to finance his gambling habit. I don't even know where that is. Mind you..." Teacher bit into the cone, which Ellandriel now saw was edible. "I'm not sure now I'd want to read it. The man looks decidedly unhinged. What's that noise?"

"That must be the racers coming back, Shan'do."

"Racers?" Teacher ate the last bit of icecream cone and walked out onto the race track, looking into the distance.

"Shan'do! Watch out!"

Ellandriel leapt to her feet, dropping her ice cream into the sand, staring in horror. Far in the distance, the racers came hurtling towards the finish line, propelled by goodness only knew what kind of hellish powers. They closed on Teacher.

"They _are_ rather fast, aren't they?"

Ellandriel winced as the racers came closer, closer. One of them seemed to notice that the track wasn't free. With a scream of tortured metal, he slammed on the brakes. The other one, after a split second, did the same. One of them suddenly let out a large cloth sail behind it with a loud bang. The sail broke its tethers only a second later. She stared in horror as one racer lurched, hit the other. Teacher frowned, and _blinked_ , appearing next to Ellandriel while the racers, now totally out of control, screamed off into the distance, bouncing on the hard, white sand. Teacher looked after them.

"Well, that seems a bit hazardous. A shame. We might have asked them for a lift to Dustwallow Marsh. Nothing for it, Thero'shan. We'll have to walk all the way. Did you find any provisions for the trip?"

It took Ellandriel a few tries to find her voice.

"Lady... Lady Daisy will know." 

 

They were on the move again, faces swathed with scarves against the ever-present dust. This time, they were heading North, to Dustwallow Marsh. Teacher seemed to know quite a lot about the area, and its resident Goblins. All that Ellandriel cared about was that it was likely to be cooler, and less dry. She had filled their bottles at the race track. Lady Daisy had given them cool water, from a small closet kept cool by Goblin magic. It had cost them a few extra silvers, but it had been worth it. Ellandriel had politely declined the offer of a similar outfit to Lady Daisy's, though she wasn't sure whether she had been joking. Most things Lady Daisy said had seemed like a joke, but Ellandriel didn't know enough about Humans to be sure. She had pressed a few extra silver pieces into her hand (the pieces taken from the dead Satyr), towards her visit to her parents in Theramore.

Teacher drank a few small sips of water, with an eye on the horizon.

"Thero'shan, if no evil befalls, we'll be out of this desert before daybreak tomorrow. We are going to Dustwallow Marsh. That is a literal translation of the Goblin name for it, which is... unpronouncable. Luckily, the Goblins speak Common very well. In the interest, of course, of taking our gold away from us."

Teacher's head turned sharply to the right, where there had been movement. Moving with the liquid motion of long practice, Teacher turned, hand raised, staff aloft. A vicious purple blast of arcane energy shot out, and there was a primeval scream. A large scorpid's tail quivered mid-attack, then slumped lifeless to the ground. Teacher looked back at Ellandriel.

" _Do_ pay attention, Thero'shan. As I said before, we are not in the Athenaeum anymore. Only low-order minds cannot pay attention to two things at the same time."

Ellandriel simply stared, first at the dead scorpid, then at Teacher. Teacher laughed.

"Oh come on, Ellandriel. Did you really think I would take you into a place where I couldn't fight off the local wildlife? The moment I genuinely require your assistance, I'll tell..." Teacher paused a moment, considering. "Actually, no. I'll expect you to work it out for yourself. Let's keep moving." 

* * *

Priest trainer Jandria looked up from the piece of parchment, at her student, who was staring into her mug of tea.

"That's very good, Lirael. Have lots of extra points for that."

Her student didn't look up from her tea, and simply sighed. That was not the expected result. Jandria kept merit points sufficiently rare for them to be greeted with more enthusiasm than this. Especially from Lirael, who was a great natural source of enthusiasm.

"What's up, dear?"

Lirael looked up. "Everybody is dumping their worries on me. I know it's what priestesses are there for, but still."

Jandria smiled, got up and sat down next to Lirael. She put an arm round her and pulled Lirael's head onto her shoulder. Lirael closed her eyes.

"Ariciel is a good friend, so I don't mind her. I'd do anything for Feanor. Whenever Aletta drops another one of her boyfriends, I'm there to pick up the pieces, and I don't mind. But I feel like I'm accumulating everybody's cruft in my head." She looked up. "Yesterday, I didn't feel like singing."

Jandria blinked. It was like a fish had just told her it didn't feel like swimming.

"I've been to Feanor," said Lirael. "He'd just had a sentry jump to her death in front of his eyes because she'd been turned into a Death Knight. Ariciel with all her dead loved ones."

"Their suffering is bothering you," said Jandria. "Good. It should. Especially them, because you love them. But you owe it to yourself to let their problems be their problems. You aren't helping them any by going down with them."

"Easier said than done."

"True."

"How do you manage?"

Jandria pulled Lirael a bit closer. "I am furnished with a very capable boyfriend who is very understanding when I tell him I need to forget the world for a while. I take long walks. I swim in the river. I try to seduce Mathrengyl Bearwalker."

Lirael snorted. "Not a chance. He's still pining for some lost love, and he visits someone in Auberdine for the more immediate needs."

Jandria grinned. "So I can keep trying again and again. Come on. If he'd give in, I'd have to find someone else."

"Arch-druid Staghelm?"

"Thank you for that advice. I do want to remain on speaking terms with Tyrande, you know?"

Lirael laughed. Jandria stroked her hair.

"But to answer your question, you need to make a conscious effort. Find something to occupy yourself with that knocks all else out of your head. Don't feel guilty about it either. If the healer goes under, everybody goes under."

"I'll try."

"I know." Jandria looked into Lirael's eyes. "You're very good at what you do, you know? Take care of yourself. If it becomes too much, see me. I know all the best fishing spots on this treetop, and they say there's a fifty pound grouper in there somewhere,"

"My goodness. You'll be able to feed thousands!"

"Got to catch it first." 


	6. Everybody has jobs to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stetson is on the trail of his brother, which leads to the frozen lands of Death's Stand, the Wailing Ziggurat. Here, he finds the Death Knight named Thassarian, naked, in a passionate embrace with Koltira... OK, that is a lie. Koltira is nowhere near. And he has all his clothes on, it's _freezing_ there. Thassarian has a job for Stetson. Ellandriel is enjoying the soggy lands of Dustwallow Marsh. Ariciel and Mareva are merrily skipping through Ashenvale, getting in touch with the trees and the flowers and perhaps some other things that are green.

Stetson reined in his elekk, and stared up. Far over his head, someone on a gryphon flew by. A brief pang of envy struck him. He'd never bothered with flying mounts. There weren't any in Azeroth and Outland was just where he went occasionally to get supplies. No need. The flight masters were quite adequate to his needs. Still, now, with many more miles to go, he thought on how good it would be simply to fly in straight lines rather than up and down hills, along roads and through the mountains. At least, he had reached the snowy parts of the Borean Tundra. Just a half-day more, and he'd reach the Wailing Ziggurat, where hopefully, he'd find the death knight named Thassarian. Thassarian would lead him to his brother. Wailing ziggurat, Howling Fjord. This did not sound like a happy country, in spite of all its natural beauty. If it weren't for all the fighting and threatening evil, Stetson would be quite happy to stay in this place indefinitely. He smiled. Mareva would probably hate it. She was more of a city girl, with her machines, engines and clever little devices. Still... Stetson's eyes scanned the horizon. She did appreciate beauty, and whoever could look at these lands and not be awestruck by them, needed a quick check to see if their heads were still there.

As he rode on, Stetson thought about his brother. They looked exactly alike, to the last barbel on their faces. An advantage, so far, in the search. He had to admit that Garz'houn had always been the more virtuous of the two of them, and Father's favourite by far. Stetson could see this now without grudging it. Father'd had a point. Garz'houn had become a Paladin, vowing to protect the weak and uphold the holy principles of chivalry, honour and virtue. Stetson had been content just to hunt up dinner. He would admit that several of his hunting friends would be no company for a Holy Paladin, but at least they had no pretenses. The attitude of some of Garz'houn's fellow paladins frankly made his stomach turn. So convinced of their own virtue. Filled with disdain for lesser creatures, who merely, oh, kept them fed and clothed.

Neither of them had been there at the fall of Shattrath to the Orcs, Light be praised, though they had looked from afar at the smoke, standing side by side on a high hill. Garz'houn had bowed his head in shame, realising that a few miles away, his brethren were being slaughtered by the Orcs, and there wasn't a thing he could do to prevent it. The fel magics had defeated them. Without the Light, what could they do? At least he had not turned into one of those miserable Broken wretches. Well, now he was a Death Knight. The Broken might be a degenerate life form, but at least they were living creatures, not walking corpses that should have been dead long ago.

How much of his soul would still be intact? Because, for all his pompous manners and holier-than-thou attitudes, he was good company on a long trek, as long as neither of their friends were present to spoil the mood. The tidings of his death had struck deep, and Stetson had taken to wandering about the lands, without his brother's pious advice to ignore and rebel against. Stetson would give a lot to be able to ride out with his brother again, listening to his long monologues about the ways of the Light and how he, Stetson, fell short of them. He would always retort by pointing out that Garz'houn was about to fall into a hole or ride off a cliff, and for him to pull his head out of the clouds. They could quite easily have drunk each other's blood at times, but still. They had been as two equal weights on either side of the scale. With his brother gone, Stetson had been in grave peril of falling off and becoming no more than a brigand, wandering the lands, falling deeper and deeper into the murk, until he would have appalled even himself.

One thing had prevented that from happening. One person only. From the day that silly little Elf had made him spill his drink, and introduced him to her beautiful friend, he had no longer feared for himself. And still, stupid zlotnik that he was, he was here, chasing ghosts. He kicked his elekk, and it broke into a trot. Better get this job over with, and maybe introduce Mareva to his brother. 

 

The morning was drawing to an end, as Stetson saw a tower in the distance. He stood up in his stirrups and looked at it. It seemed to be one of those religious buildings that Humans delighted to put up all over the place. Oh well. Once more he spurred on his mount. When the ziggurat was a few hundred yards away, he dismounted. Stetson put Morgan on defensive, and carefully walked up to the entrance. There was a strange noise coming from the inside. Stetson pressed his tail to the wall, and peeked round the corner. In the middle of the room was a Human. The Human was using some kind of spell to control a creature. An undead skeleton sat nearby, looking at nothing. Stetson readied his crossbow, told Morgan to follow and walked in.

"Arquenon Porous," said Stetson.

The Human's eyes briefly flashed at Stetson, then they returned to the creature in front of him. When he spoke, Stetson heard immediately that this person was not alive today through healthy living.

"What do you want? I'm busy."

"I see," said Stetson. "Is your work proceeding satisfactorily?"

The Human scowled. "Just what we need. A bloody joker. What does it look like?"

"A lich," said Stetson. "Is something keeping you from killing it?"

"You could say that. I need it to talk first."

"My name is S'dezo'houn. I presume that you are the Death Knight Thassarian? I was told I might find you here."

"That's affirmative. I was ordered to take this Lightless piece of stone for the good of the Alliance. They do give us the nice jobs, they do. But now that I've got it, I want some answers." The aura of light round the lich grew brighter. "But I can't get a good grip on where it hurts this piece of dreg."

Thassarian's eyes briefly flashed at Stetson.

"I don't suppose you could do something for me?"

"That depends," said Stetson.

"You want gold? I've got gold."

"Everybody needs gold," said Stetson, "But like you, I value information above gold."

"What information?" Thassarian frowned in concentration, and re-applied a spell that was in danger of falling off.

"Paxvobiscum," said Stetson.

"The correct form is pax tecum, unless you're including Lurid over there."

"It is the name that one of your kind currently goes by," said Stetson. "I wish to find him."

Thassarian gave Stetson an acid look. "So what?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"I might, if he were with my troop. What of it?"

Stetson sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Sparky here. He's a lich. Liches can't be hurt, and I want to hurt him. I need his phylactery. Then I can hurt him plenty."

"And I am the lucky Draenei who will get it for you?"

"Fair trade, isn't it?"

"It would seem so. Where is this phylactery, and what does it look like?"

"It's at the bottom of a pool about a mile to the North. If you go back to my camp, my horse can lead you to it. It may be defended, so bring a weapon."

"I have not seen your camp. Where is it?"

Thassarian growled. "A half-mile to the West. Give those snivelling dogs there my best and tell them to keep out of sight, 'cause the snow rabbits are pretty fierce this time of year."

"I will do that." 

 

With a new sense of urgency, Stetson mounted up and rode to the West. The camp was easy enough to find, and sure enough, a skeletal horse stood nearby. The Humans did not feel inclined to join Thassarian in the ziggurat, but generously allowed Stetson the use of their comrade's horse. Stetson felt ridiculous with his massive frame on such a small horse, which nevertheless seemed strong enough to carry him across the frozen wastes. After a brisk ride, the horse stopped by the edge of a small pool. As soon as Stetson dismounted, the horse ran off to the South. Stetson stared after it, shaking his head. Then, he knelt by the pool and stared down into the crystal clear water. Something near the bottom was shimmering. It looked like an egg on top of a box.

"Right Morgan," said Stetson. "How do you suggest we get that thing up here?"

Morgan looked at a fortress to the North, laid his ears in his neck, and said nothing.

"Well, one of us is getting wet. Maybe even both."

Morgan yowled.

"Oh alright. Let's see if we can engineer it somehow."

Stetson rummaged in his pack, and got out a ball of string and a bigger rope. Then, he produced one of his cheaper arrows and tied a bit of string round it. One end of the string, he tied into a loop, through which he threaded the rest of the string. Then, he tied the rope into a slipknot and attached the string to it. He paused a second to admire his handiwork.

"There, Morgan. M'gyvra himself could not have done better."

He put the arrow on his crossbow and aimed straight for the phylactery, then pulled the trigger. With a smile, he saw the arrow stick into the ice a half-yard ahead of the phylactery. Spearfishing was an art in itself. So many idiots did not take into account the optical refraction of the water and wondered why they could never hit the fish they were looking at. Stetson gently pulled the string, and fed out the rope, down, down into the water. With some judicious jiggling of the rope, he managed to get the loop over the egg. With a little pull, it tightened round the object.

"Got you," said Stetson, and pulled on the rope. The object came loose from the bottom and Stetson could pull it up. The grin disappeared from his face. Near the bottom a dark shape stirred, and a strange sea-creature snatched the phylactery off his line. Stetson's mouth fell open.

"Grish'striv! You bastard! That's mine!"

The creature in the pond did not seem to agree. As it came to the surface, Stetson grabbed another arrow, fit it to his crossbow, aimed and fired. Black blood coloured the water, and it started to bubble as the guardian came up. Stetson jumped back, grabbing another arrow while Morgan attacked, tooth and claw. The guardian was joined by three skeletal figures, all of which jumped Morgan. Stetson fired again, imbuing the arrows with magic to make them hit harder. The skeletons had eyes only for Morgan, who was clawing at them, and cracking bones between his large teeth.

"You bastards stay away from my cat," growled Stetson. He grabbed a bundle of arrows, put them on his crossbow and fired them straight up into the sky, as fast as he could. The terrorshaft arrows reached the top of their arc and came down again, just as Stetson pointed a hand at them. Magic flowed again, and a rain of arrows came down on the skeletons. That seemed to do it. Morgan took a hard swipe at the last of them. As it died, it dropped the phylactery onto the snow. Stetson hurriedly cast a few spells of healing on Morgan, who had sustained a few hits. Then, he bent down and picked up the object. The box was not too heavy, and the egg on top was made of some kind of dark glass. A dark, syrupy liquid ran slowly in it. Stetson looked down on the corpse of the guardian.

"Well, thank you for giving me this. Let's hope it's what that Human wants." 

 

"Oh perfect!" Thassarian grinned. "Gimme! Let's show this thing what pain feels like."

"Not that I do not trust you," said Stetson. "Oh wait. I really do not trust you. Where is my brother?"

"Brother? This Paxvobiscum is your brother?"

"Is, or was."

"Go to Zul'drak. Go to the Ebon Blade camp, Ebon Watch. All Death Knights pass through there eventually. They even keep records. Ask for your brother there. Now gimme."

"Where is this Ebon Watch?"

"North west of Drak'tharon Keep. Know where that is?"

"I can find out," said Stetson. He handed the object to Thassarian.

"Good man," said Thassarian. He put the phylactery on the floor in front of him, and pulled out a dagger. "Want to watch this? Not for the squeamish, mind. They make an awful lot of noise."

Stetson shook his head. He had better things to do. As he left the building, he heard the first anguished wail of the lich. He mounted up, and rode in the direction of Unu'pe Village. 

* * *

After sand, mud. Sticking to her robes, drenching them with water, making them feel cold against her legs. Mud squelching in her boots. After they had crossed the Shimmering Flats, made their way up the side of the mountains ("Where are these Keldorei Priestesses with their Levitate spells when you need them, Thero'shan? That's what I want to know."), they had struck a path into the Dustwallow Marshes. Either the seasons did not work in this place the way they did anywhere else, or there was something magical about the leafless, purple trees. Teacher, for some reason, was not willing to discuss the matter, and grew sullen when Ellandriel asked about it. 

After Teacher's admonition about the scorpid in the Shimmering Flats, Ellandriel had developed a keen eye for anything red in tooth and claw, that looked like it wanted to make lunch of two passing High-borne Night-elves. With practice, the paths of magic in her mind became more and more familiar, and as a result, her fireballs became both more accurate and more deadly. She felt a strange satisfaction in watching them strike home. Must be her forest-dwelling hunter instinct awakening in her scholarly, timid, book-wormish bosom. Teacher was urging her to use a more diverse range of spells. Some of these she could cast instantly, though strangely, it was almost like she forgot the spell just after, until, much like the slow return of night vision after seeing a bright flash in the dark, it returned to her mind. Teacher had tried to explain the phenomenon, lost Ellandriel after a few sentences, sighed, and recommended further reading, leaving Ellandriel with an uncomfortable image of certain parts of her brain over-heating and needing to cool down before she could use them again. 

 

Ellandriel leaned on her staff, one foot in the air, and held her boot upside down. A slight error of judgement in the amount of squelch in the bottom of a stream had caused it to fill up with water. She gave Teacher a sad look.

"I blame the Keldorei," she said. "This is not what a High-borne would call 'solid ground'."

Teacher laughed. "Oh Thero'shan. Back in the Flats, what wouldn't you have given for a nice boot full of water?"

"Drinking out of ladies' boots is decadence and debauchery."

"And hugely over-rated," said Teacher.

Ellandriel raised an eyebrow. "There are things in your past, Shan'do, that the Moon would be afraid to shine upon."

"Naturally. I have a very long past."

Ellandriel wrung out her sock, put it back on and pulled on her boot. She looked up at Teacher, who was looking in her direction, but clearly not at her.

"How old are you, Shan'do?"

"A thousand years? Ten thousand? Probably closer to ten than one." Teacher sighed. I remember when there was just one continent of Kalimdor. I remember when there were no Orcs, and when the High-borne were held in high regard by all that beheld them. You would think that there is nothing more to do. But there is. Places to go, sights to see. Every dawn is new and fresh."

"Where _are_ we going, Shan'do?"

Teacher pointed. "First, Mudsprocket. You should see the Goblins at least once in your life. If you can leave there with as much money as you arrive, I will be most surprised. Then, Theramore. Then..."

"Then where?"

"I don't know!" Teacher laughed. "I don't _know_ , my girl. Anywhere. Everywhere. There is nowhere I have to be. There is nothing to the war effort that I can mar or mend. Even if all the Orcs would line up before me to be slaughtered, I could not kill them faster than they breed. My skills, prodigious though they are, are shared by a thousand others. Nobody listened to my counsel even when I was at Court, much less now."

"Not so, Shan'do. I listen to you," said Ellandriel.

"Yes, you do. And I thank you for it. There comes a time, when you can learn more about the world only by explaining it to a willing student. Why did I take you, you ask? Purely for selfish reasons." Teacher put a hand on Ellandriel's shoulder. "The whole of Azeroth lies before us. Let's go." 

* * *

"Do you know where we are?"

"Sure I do. We've been following this path for a little over an hour now."

"I know. I was there with you. I am not so much interested in the path that lies behind us, as I am in the path that still lies ahead."

"Seems to be going mostly East, but it may turn somewhere. Look! Dreamfoil! That's pretty rare here." Ariciel bent down to look at the small flower. "You know, I think a herbalist must have dropped some seeds here. That's what you get with all these people travelling about the place."

"Very interesting," said Mareva.

"Sometimes alien species do very well in a new environment," said Ariciel. "Even overwhelming the native species. You think flora is all peace and quiet, don't you? Well, I can tell you, plants fight wars every bit as vicious as ours. This one doesn't look like it's going to overwhelm anything, though." Ariciel picked the flower, brushed back Mareva's hair, and stuck it behind her ear. "They say it brings pleasant dreams."

"Does it bring us closer to Theramore?"

"Don't think so."

Mareva gave Ariciel a weary look, and pointed. "I believe we are running round in circles. I am sure I have seen that tree three times already."

"How can you say that? We haven't seen this tree before. Look, it's got two different kinds of lichen on it, and a split at the top of the trunk."

"How long will it be until we reach the Barrens?"

"I don't know! Navigation isn't an exact science, you know?"

"You know, if you ask a cartographer, I think you will find that actually, it is." Mareva sneered. "If only we had the time to seed a few navigation satellites before we crashed."

"Pff! You city people. You are always dividing the world up into little squares, and counting them. It's not _like_ that! A forest is a _creature_. You have to listen to it. Let it talk to you."

Mareva gave a small nod, then closed her eyes. She opened them again and looked at Ariciel.

"This creature is saying, maybe, if I show this stupid blue nactba every benighted blade of grass in the forest three times, she will learn to appreciate me."

Ariciel grinned. "And? Is it working?"

" _Lok'tar_ _Ogar_!"

Ariciel didn't think, but simply reacted, turning to her bear form in a flash of green magic, then charging at their enemies, who turned out to be three Orcs. Ariciel saw that one of them was a magic user, and ran straight at her, swiping at the two warriors as she went. The ground shook as she roared, and none of the Orcs dared look away from her.

Mareva cried out, and round her, her four totems appeared. They looked like small cylinders, glowing in red, green, blue, and pale, reflecting the Elements of fire, Earth, Water and Air. They were focus devices for her elemental magics. Next, she cast a shield spell on herself, that would bite back at anyone hitting her. While Ariciel had the Orcs distracted, she looked at each of them. Two hitters, one spellcaster. Either an attacker or a healer. She concentrated on the spellcaster, and lashed out with a fire spell. The Orc woman cried out, and one of the axe fighters turned round to Mareva and charged.

"Sod off," said Mareva, through clenched teeth. With a quick gesture, she called down lightning and thunder, and aimed it straight at the axe fighter. A sudden gust of wind picked up not only the axe fighter, but also the other Orc and the caster woman, throwing them back.

Ariciel dived for the floor, the wind flattening her fur, then turned round like a furry tornado and charged at the Orcs again.

Mareva raised her arm and lightning sprang from her outstretched fingers, hitting first the caster woman, then the two other Orcs. Seeing that the fire spell she cast earlier was about to fall off, Mareva raised a fist into the air. The caster woman was instantly lit up with bright yellow flames, that engulfed her, and her two companions. The orc woman's charred body stiffened, fell dead to the ground.

Ariciel raised herself on her hind legs, and bore down, claws out, on one of the axe fighters. Just as Mareva focused on the other one, there were shouts behind her, and several figures came running past her, swords out. They started hacking away at the last Orc.

Mareva raised her eyebrows, and fired the lightning bolt she had been preparing at Ariciel's Orc. A great hush fell. Then, the strange fighters raised their weapons in the air and yelled in victory.

Ariciel turned back to her Elf form with a wild grin on her face, looking at her hands as she opened and closed them.

"Oh, I _like_ this dire bear form." She looked up at Mareva. "That blow-away thing you did was a bit of a surprise. And just when I had them where I wanted them, too."

"You missed one," said Mareva. She raised an arm, and all her totems sunk back into the earth.

"Good day, Ladies!" One of the strange swordfighters had just put away a two-handed sword. He walked towards them with a big grin on his face. "It is a rare _pleasure_ , to be able to _save_ two such _beautiful_ ladies from certain _death_." He bowed. "You owe your lives to Grimm Skullcrusher, Warrior of great renown. Save your words of thanks, it was my _job_." He wiggled his eyebrows at them. "Unless you _want_ to thank me, of course."

"I'm Ripface," said the other. He pointed behind Mareva. "He's Heals."

As Mareva looked over her shoulder, she saw a tall Night-elf man standing next to her. He bowed.

"Greetings. My name is Hirudo. Did anyone get hurt in the fight?"

Ariciel checked her arms and legs, but found nothing untoward.

Skullcrusher laughed. "Get hurt? _Us_? What kind of noobs do you think we are? We don't get hurt, we dish _out_ the hurt!"

"Indeed," said Hirudo, fingering a row of small glass bottles on his belt. Mareva couldn't help noticing that half of them were empty.

"Do you run out of mana much?"

"Yes, Lady," said Hirudo. "Pool the size of an egg-cup, I'm afraid."

"Oi. Don't diss Heals," said Ripface. "He may be a noob, but he's _ours_."

"Yeah," said Skullcrusher. "We're letting him train on us, because it's a nice easy job."

Mareva noticed a slight twitch in Hirudo's eye, and kindly let the matter rest.

"Well," said Skullcrusher, "I suppose you _can_ tag along with us, Ladies. We don't normally let anyone, because we're a finely tuned team, but for _you_ , we'll make an exception."

Ariciel's eyes shone, and she bounced up and down. "Oo! Mareva! They're letting us join them! Can we? _Can_ we?"

"Only if you behave," said Mareva. 

* * *

"Paxvobiscum?"

Stefan Vadu ran his fingers through his thin beard. His eyes shone at Stetson with the cold light that was in all Death Knights' eyes. He shook his head.

"I can't say I recall someone going by that name."

Stetson nodded.

"And if you did remember?"

Vadu shook his head, a little grin on his pale cheeks.

"I wouldn't tell you. Twelve times in a dozen, when someone wants to find one of our lot, it's to chop his head off for something he did when Arthas was still calling the shots."

"This is the thirteenth time. Paxvobiscum is my brother. Thassarian said I should come here to find him."

"Did he, now? Doesn't mean I trust you."

Stetson simply nodded.

"In all honesty," he said, "It doesn't even mean that I won't try to knock his head off. But I have to speak to him. Do you mind if I wait here for him? I hear that all Death Knights eventually pass through this place."

"Well, this is not a holiday camp. I'd mind a lot less if you made yourself useful." Vadu paused a second, looking Stetson up and down, assessing his worth in a fight. "There's this bunch of Trolls that have sided with the Scourge. Could you explain to them why they shouldn't have?"

Stetson looked down by his side, at Morgan, out to where Stefan Vadu indicated, then back at the Death Knight.

"Certainly." 

 

They were tall, but they slouched. In their long, gangling arms were axes and swords. They had long noses like beaks and fangs protruded from their mouths. In short, they were Trolls and they had spotted Stetson. There were five of them.

"Morgan, attack!"

Stetson's polar tiger growled, and charged in, weaving and dodging his way through the weapons of the Trolls as he fought. Stetson focused his magic, and let fly his arrows. One by one, the enemies fell to arrow, tooth and claw. The fight ended as quickly as it began, and Stetson cast spells of healing on Morgan, little though they were needed. The spells complete, Stetson's big hand scratched Morgan between the ears.

"Well done, boy. Now let's see what they are carrying."

With a healthy dose of distaste, Stetson turned over the bodies of the Trolls. Their weapons were not well made, even to Troll standards, as far as Stetson was any judge. They had very little in the way of armour, either. Leather jerkins. Useless against terrorshaft arrows. Only one thing interested him. The leader of the group was wearing a necklace. It was quite intricately made, and almost certainly not of Troll origin. As Stetson took it, he could feel the slight tingle in his fingers that told him this necklace was enchanted in some way. He was almost tempted to try it on, but the effect of the gems on it made it look like the thing was dripping with blood. It was unlikely to be nice and wholesome, so he put it in his pack. Maybe his new Death Knight friend would be able to tell him what it was.

Morgan was sitting next to him. The Boss' backpack was open. Obviously, that was so the Boss could get out something nice and feed it to him. Stetson laughed, and did as he was told. Morgan couldn't talk, of course, but who needs to talk if you can project images of starving kittens straight into your master's mind?

"Come on, boy. More Trolls to catch. Play it right, and there may be some boar in it for you."


	7. Strategy, tactics, operations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellandriel and her Teacher enjoy the company of the Goblins of Mudsprocket. Stetson is being entertained by Stefan Vadu of Ebon Watch and his lovely assistant Bloodrose Datura. And finally, thank goodness, Ariciel and Mareva have some big strong Warriors to protect them. Or is that "to protect"?

Ellandriel sat under a roof, on the floor, at a table that was built for someone not half her size. A steaming bowl of Goblin Stew was in front of her. ("Made _by_ Goblins, Thero'shan, not _from_ Goblins. Cannibalism among Goblins is extremely rare.") No matter what meat had gone into the stew, it was delicious, after several weeks tramping through the desert living on, basically, mana. She was grateful for the gift of the Light that allowed her to produce food from thin air, especially when she had to rely on it alone. It gave them both the power to travel for long stretches in inhospitable places. Still, as she stirred her bowl, she wished she could conjure a carrot. Teacher was sitting at the other side of the table, talking to the Head Goblin.

"Times are tough, Learned One," said the Goblin. "We are beset by the Black Dragonflight. They attack us whenever they see us."

"That is troublesome," said Teacher. "Have you tried to reason with them?"

"Pah! The only way to put your trust in Dragonkin is to put your trust in your blade, then put the blade in the Dragonkin."

"Really? Goblins are said to be the supreme negotiators. Have your skills failed you?"

"There is no negotiating with Black Dragonkin. They _welch_ on their deals, curse them! I much prefer the Night-elves. At least they know to be true to their word, unlike these leather-winged cheats."

"Naturally. What, then, do you intend to do?"

"Destroy them! Hunt them down without mercy!"

"Surely, this has occurred to you before today. Why are any Dragonkin still breathing in the Marsh?"

"We need help. They are too strong for us. We need the firepower that only Mages can bring."

This surprised Ellandriel. There had been a series of classes on warfare in Kalimdor. They had been lucky to have them. The Shen'dralar were not allowed out of Eldre'thalas, but some of their servants had remained faithful to them, and went out in secret to bring them the things they could not get for themselves. One of their finds had been a large trunk filled with fairly up-to-date weapons guides which were duly brought into the City, copied out and taught to the students. Goblins were renowned for their skills in engineering. They produced weapons that needed no magic, and yet could belch fire, or blast enemies to pieces with violent explosions. Surely, Goblins venturing out into these contested areas would have a store of those weapons?

She looked at Teacher's face. Teacher looked bored, which was usually a sign that annoyance and anger were quick to follow. She guessed that Teacher suspected they were about to be, as the _patois_ had it, taken for a ride. The Goblin sat hunched on his chair, not meeting Teacher's eyes. Suddenly, he gave Teacher an intense, penetrating look, filled with despair.

"Learned One, we need your help. A Mage such as you, and your worthy apprentice, could turn the tide for us. With your immeasurable skills, the Firemane would be history within _hours_!"

Teacher's eyes met the Goblin's, glowing with a keen grey light that suddenly had lost all warmth.

"You have at least two dozen warriors here, Mr. Grimegurgle. Some of them have skills in stealth. Dragonkin are fiercely individual, and will only work together under one strong leader. That leader will be the only one. Delegation of leadership is foreign to them. Kill the leader, and the rest of them are as likely to attack each other as you. I suggest you send your warriors on harassing attacks, hit and run, from as many sides as you are able, then have your stealth warriors assassinate the leader. Without a head, the body will thrash about without coherence, and you can pick them off at your leisure. These are creatures of fire. They are especially vulnerable to freezing poisons, which I believe you can make here from natural resources. Warriors of your calibre should be able to achieve this in a few days."

"Yes, yes. Your words are of wisdom, Learned One, but could an accomplished Mage like yourself not achieve this with much greater ease than we could?"

"I have no quarrel with the Dragonkin. Why should I?"

The Goblin stood up, pushing back his chair.

"You sit under our roof, at our table, eating our food, and yet you will not help us?"

Teacher scowled. "I just did, Mr. Grimegurgle."

"Bah! Words! It is actions that we need, _actions_!"

"You speak the truth, Sir. But they will not be _our_ actions."

Ellandriel, seeing the way this was going, sadly put down her spoon and stood up, picking up her staff. Teacher gave her a quick look.

"Thero'shan? I believe we have worn out our welcome in this place. Let us go."

"If we let you, Elf," said the Goblin, "if we let you."

Ellandriel pulled her hood over her face, gripped her staff. She gathered up her powers, but without much enthusiasm. Most of the Goblins had been nice to her. She didn't want to end the evening with a fight.

"Shan'do," she said, in Darnassian, "I am ready."

Teacher stood up, head almost touching the ceiling of the house, looking down on the Goblin. The room was bathed in a blue light from one of Teacher's shield spells. Ellandriel pulled down her hood to hide her smile. Mana shield. It drained you of magical energy at alarming rates while absorbing damage, leaving you completely drained just as it failed. An _excellent_ idea, Shan'do had said. Still, it looked fairly impressive to those not in the know. Teacher scowled at the Goblin.

"Don't be absurd. We are the High-borne. We come and go as we please, and woe to those who try to hinder us. We are leaving." 

 

"Incredible! Imbeciles!"

They were walking along the road to the North of Mudsprocket. Teacher was marching with long, angry steps, kicking at pebbles. Ellandriel had to walk quickly to keep up.

"Yes, Shan'do."

"Not help them? I outlined their whole strategy for them, giving them information on Dragonkin command structure that they would have had to pay in blood to find out for themselves, pointed out weaknesses in their defences... Not _help_ them?"

"Perhaps they expected a different kind of help."

"They certainly did. The lazy little... _creatures_ expected us to do their dirty work for them. Why put yourself at risk when there are perfectly expendable strangers to do it for you?"

Ellandriel nodded slowly. "You could have, though, couldn't you?"

"Pah! _You_ could have. That is not the issue here. The issue is that we cannot afford to become caught up in the political situation in this place. Were we to attack the Black Dragonflight, then we would risk arousing the wrath of their more powerful members. And besides, these Goblins are perfectly capable of pulling their own chestnuts out of the fire. They were just not willing to take the risk themselves."

Teacher turned to Ellandriel with a serious look.

"My student, I may have been able to gather the odd titbit of news while in Eldre'thalas, but my knowledge of the political situation in this area is far from complete. Until it is, we must remain strictly neutral, and not involve ourselves. Remember this, Ellandriel. Never walk into any situation without sufficient information. It is a recipe for disaster."

"Yes, Shan'do," said Ellandriel. She looked into Teacher's eyes with a little smile. "Is this one of those things that it is more important for you to explain than it is for me to understand it?"

Teacher suddenly stood stock still, turning a face to Ellandriel that looked old, old beyond years. Night-elves' faces did not wrinkle like Humans', not until they were thousands of years old. Teacher's clan markings were a deep green, and had faded and been re-applied countless times, replaced with more and more elaborate designs until now, they had settled into the elegant leaf-shape of the truly ancient. Teacher slowly started to grin, and then laughed out loud.

"Thero'shan, I knew there was a good reason for taking you on this expedition. In thanks, I can only promise that I will make it as interesting as I can possibly make it."

"In some places, Shan'do, 'Interesting' is a curse."

"That is true, my student, but 'dull' is a curse much worse than that. A day without fear, or without wonder, or without sadness, joy, achievement or worthwhile memories, is a day wasted." Teacher sighed. "And Elune knows that I have wasted too many of them already. Theramore is at the end of this road, Ellandriel. If we keep up a good pace, we can reach it by nightfall tomorrow. Let's see how the Humans are doing." 

* * *

Stefan Vadu gingerly held the necklace up to the light. Stetson saw that he was touching it as little as he could. His face, which had probably never been one to which happy expressions came easily, was particularly grim.

"I can tell you didn't try this on, Draenei. I know these necklaces."

"What is it?"

Stefan Vadu looked at it, turning it round and round between his fingers.

"Perhaps a demonstration would be better." He called out. "Datura?"

A slender female figure appeared from within a small shelter a few yards off. Once, she had probably walked the lands of Shadowmoon as a Blood-elf paladin or something. Now, her eyes had the same glow as those of all Death Knights. She looked at Stefan, and sighed.

"What is it now?"

Stefan showed her the necklace.

"Our friend here needs to see what this could have done to him if he'd have put it on."

"Oh very well," said Datura. She took the necklace from Stefan's hand and walked over to a cage where a captured Troll sat, staring in front of him. Datura kicked the cage, and the Troll looked up at her. She held the necklace up to the bars.

"A present for you," she said.

"Ya Mon?"

"Take it."

The Troll carefullly took the necklace from Datura's hand, and looked at it.

"Oh Mon! Be _Gojas_! Be..."

The Troll's expression changed, and he grabbed his throat, choking, retching. His legs gave, and he rolled round on the floor of the cage, unable to scream, eyes bulging. A small stream of blood came from his mouth. It took him maybe five minutes to stop twitching.

"Disgusting," said Datura. Gingerly, she picked the necklace from between the Troll's fingers and gave it back to Stefan. Then, she snapped her fingers and the Troll corpse was instantly turned to flame. She crossed her arms, and looked at Stefan.

"Will that be all?"

"Yes."

Datura nodded, and went back inside. Stefan held out the necklace to Stetson and dropped it into Stetson's hand before Stetson realised what it had just done to a Troll.

"You, my friend, are a very special person. You have handled that necklace, and lived."

Stetson stared at the thing in his hand, unsure whether to drop it. He looked up at Stefan.

"But I took it off another Troll. _He_ was handling it no problem. So were you and that Blood-elf."

Stefan smiled grimly. "That Troll was unaffected because he'd been given it by his Scourge masters. Bloodrose Datura and I were unaffected because of our special... condition. But you. Why you are unaffected, is a bit of a mystery. I think it means that the Scourge has plans for you. You, my Draenei friend, are the Chosen One."

Stetson stared blankly at the Death Knight in front of him.

"Oh _crap_!" 

 

Stetson ran through the dreary wasteland of Zul'drak. He was not feeling quite himself. In fact, he was very much not himself, because he'd just used the ensorcelled necklace. It had turned him into one of the Undead creatures that loped through the area. Stefan Vadu had created the disguise for him, and so far it seemed to work. None of the other Scourge undead gave him a second look. To test the disguise, Stefan had asked him to go and buy some plasma at one of the grisly merchants that the Scourge had positioned round the area. He'd told Morgan to keep himself out of sight. Morgan had no trouble seeing through the disguise, which was comforting to Stetson. On the other hand, if Morgan could see through that easily, so could others. Vadu had warned him about the Blightguards. Stetson had just nodded, and only now started to wonder what a Blightguard was. He took a deep unhealthy, rattling breath. Better get this over with. Where was this Gristlegut? Stetson blinked. Ah. He could see the large individual's guts leaking out, and they did look like gristle. That must be him, then. 

 

Stetson looked at the flask in his hand. It was filled with a vaguely brown, pale liquid. So this was what the Scourge used to replenish their sorcerors' mana when they needed to do more evil. Hopefully, it was what Vadu needed. Stetson did not want to go back and look at the squelching mass of innards again. He whistled, and Morgan came from under some shrubs, and head-butted him. Stetson grabbed his manes.

"Right. Let's get back to the scary bloke and give him his potion. I hope he can get the scourge off our backs."

With Morgan in tow, Stetson ran back to Vadu and presented the bottle. He seemed pleased. Good. 

"Oh excellent. There may be some hope for you yet. Now, since that disguise works so well, I think you're ready for something a little more... challenging. How about a little espionage?"

Stetson gave Stefan a weary look.

"Do I have a choice?"

Stefan gave him an evil grin. "Of course you do. You can either do what I say and save your blue skin, of you can walk over to Overlord Drakuru, and apply for a job. What'll it be?"

"All right. Let us get this done. What do you need me to do?" 

 

Stetson took a deep breath, and prepared to put on the necklace once more. He was no more vain than the next guy, and it wasn't that he was afraid that the disguise might stick somehow, but still. Just as he lifted the necklace to his neck, there was a noise behind him, and he turned round. His jaw dropped, and the necklace almost fell from his fingers. In front of him stood a Draenei man, but... not anymore. His eyes bored into Stetson's, and they had the pale, cold, dead glow of the Death Knight. A huge two-handed sword was on his back. He was wearing plate armour. He held his helm under his arm.

"What, you mongrel, are _you_ doing here?"

Stetson took a deep, deep breath.

"Garz'houn?"

The Death Knight pulled back his fist and hit Hunter S'dezo'houn with a right hook that sent him sprawling.

"Garz'houn is dead! I will not have you insult his memory by calling me by that name. I am Paxvobiscum."

Stetson looked up, hand rubbing his chin.

"Garz'a?"

Paxvobiscum stepped forward, grabbed Stetson by his collar and pulled him up.

"I told you not to mention that name! Paladin Garz'houn gave his life for his fellow Draenei. I am not him!"

Paxvobiscum punched Stetson in the face and dropped him. There was a growl behind him, and the next moment, a large polar tiger was on him, fangs bare, claws out. He grabbed Morgan by the throat, shook him and threw him off, knocking him into a tree. Morgan yowled, trying to get back to his feet. Paxvobiscum turned back to Stetson, just in time to stop Stetson's fist with his face. Paxvobiscum staggered back and Stetson hit him in the stomach.

"I don't know," said Stetson, "who the hell you think you are, Brother..." Stetson hit Paxvobiscum with another punch to the face. "But nobody... _nobody_ touches my cat!"

Stetson threw another punch at Paxvobiscum's face. The Death Knight caught Stetson's fist in his hand, and held on to it, twisted it and punched Stetson in the stomach so hard that he turned pale, and fell to his knees. He grabbed Stetson by the throat, and pulled him close.

"I am. Not. Your brother."

Paxvobiscum dropped Stetson, who fell down on his hands and knees. Behind Paxvobiscum, Morgan had scrambled to his feet, and gathered himself up to leap on Paxvobiscum.

"Morgan! Do not attack." Stetson got to his feet, and faced Paxvobiscum.

"You ungrateful bastard. I've been looking all over this bloody continent for you. I've been chased by walking skeletons. I've been chased by bloody Druids. I've been turned into a bloody Scourge minion and now I've got the whole damn Scourge on my neck unless I jump through a bunch of hoops for this walking corpse Vadu. All to find you, and try to help you."

Paxvobiscum frowned. "Vadu? What's he got to do with anything?"

"He's trying to help me get rid of the Scourge Lord that's got his sights on me."

"You stupid zlotnik! Did he tell you you were the Chosen One?"

"Uhh... Yes."

Paxvobiscum took a deep breath. "You really are a stupid zlotnik S'dezo'houn. Stefan Vadu tries that trick on everyone. What he wants is someone who will take out Drakuru for him. It never works. They either end up as his minions, or if they annoy him, he drops them from the necropolis and they end up a smear on the floor."

Stetson looked at the person who was not his brother.

"I don't believe you."

"Why not? Go home S'dezo'houn. There is no help for me. I am already running bloody errands for Vadu. There is no reason why you should."

"But... The Scourge has its eye on me!"

Paxvobiscum raised his fists.

"Of course they do! You have a pulse! The Light-damned Scourge has its sights on _everybody_! Just get your sorry tail out of this place. Tell everybody I'm dead."

Stetson stared.

"Sod you. I am going to see for myself. Try to stop me."

Stetson turned round, put on the necklace and spoke the few syllables to activate the disguise. He looked over his bony shoulder once, then loped off. Paxvobiscum sighed.

"You stupid bastard. Why would you never believe a damned thing I say?" 

* * *

Ariciel sat on a fallen tree by the fire, watching Ripface and Skullcrusher. They appeared to be practicing swords, but they seemed more interested in hitting each other's blades than they were in hitting each other. Perhaps they were performing some kind of interpretive dance entitled 'Sword Fighting For Idiots'. Hirudo had made himself comfortable with his back against a tree. He had pulled the brim of his large pointy hat down over his face. Mareva walked up to Ariciel, nudged her and pushed a mug of tea into her hand. She sat down next to her.

"What do you think of our savage protectors?"

Ariciel turned her head to Mareva. Her look said it all. Ripface and Skullcrusher had their swords locked, and were trying to push each other backwards, with fierce Warrior's grins on their faces. With a big grunt, they pushed each other back, and started to stalk round each other. Ripface spotted a weak spot in Skullcrusher's defences, leapt forward and hit his sword instead. That seemed to conclude the festivities for this evening. They nodded at each other and put away their swords. Skullcrusher walked up to Mareva, one hand on his shoulder.

"Hey _Lady_ , I think I've pulled a _muscle_ in my shoulder. Could you massage it for me?"

Mareva's pale blue glowing eyes slowly turned to Skullcrusher, and stayed there, conjuring up images of endless fields of ice and snow, and the immeasurable distances of Space, cold and dark. Skullcrusher opened his mouth to say something.

"No," said Mareva, got up and started looking in her pack.

Skullcrusher looked at her back for a second, then turned to Ariciel. Ariciel bared her teeth. She growled.

"I am a Warrior Druid. I am sworn never to touch a man unless I defeat him first in mortal combat."

Skullcrusher stared at her, mouth hanging open.

"That... is _hot_." A slow grin flowed onto his face. "Very _well_ , then, Lady. I _accept_."

Ariciel watched in astonishment as Skullcrusher drew his jewelled two-handed sword, and bowed to her. Did the imbecile really not understand what 'mortal combat' meant? Mareva looked up from her pack. Her face turned the colour of ripe skethyl-berries, and she looked back inside her pack, body shaking with sobs of grief. She looked back at Ariciel, tears in her eyes, and put a hand on her arm.

"Fare thee well, my friend. I will sing of your deeds."

Ariciel took a deep breath, turned her eyes to the heavens and reached for her staff. She got to her feet.

" _Excusez_ _moi_ , _Madame_ ," said Hirudo, in Darnassian, lifting his hat with a single finger. "Please do not kill him. I would be honour-bound to resurrect him, and you would have no excuse left."

Ariciel's eyes twinkled at him as she and Grimm Skullcrusher stepped out. It's not the winning that's important, it's the humiliation. Ariciel faced Skullcrusher. The staff in her hands was still the one that Bannog had given her back in Lakeshire. Mareva had done the magical jewels that gave Ariciel an entirely unfair advantage when sparring.

"Will you be fighting in _Bear_ shape, Lady?"

Ariciel smiled. "I don't think that would be appropriate. I'll keep my clothes on."

"Hah! We will _see_ about that! Ready?"

"Now grip your weapon grim," said Ariciel. "Let us see your fighting style."

"Gladly," said Skullcrusher.

He raised his sword and swung it downward. Ariciel watched the blade come in, and stepped to one side. The stroke went wide. Skullcrusher followed up with a savage backhand at middle height. Rather than leap backwards, up or dropping to the ground, Ariciel stepped in, past Skullcrusher, so that the stroke lost all speed by the time it reached her. Skullcrusher whirled round on one foot, and faced Ariciel again. He pulled back the sword, and with a grunt stabbed out at Ariciel. Ariciel moved away easily, smiling. She and Bannog sparred often, he with a wooden sword, because unlike this clown, Bannog did have a chance of hitting her, she with her staff. Sparring with Bannog usually ended up with bumps and bruises for both of them, and the need to kiss them better. Skullcrusher tried several times to stab Ariciel, who moved like a fish in water, not even using her staff. He took a few staps back, breathing hard.

"Haha! You _pass_ the first test, Lady. Now, the _real_ fight begins! Be on guard!"

"Oh no," said Ariciel.

Skullcrusher charged at her, sword slashing round at head height. Ariciel ducked under and stood facing Skullcrusher by the time he had stopped. He swung his sword round, whistling, in circles left and right of his body, then stood still, sword raised by his side.

"Careful," said Ariciel. "You might hurt someone doing that."

"That was your own _choice_ , Lady." Skullcrusher grinned at Ariciel. "If you _wish_ , you may _forfeit_ the fight now, with your _beauty_ intact."

"Aww. You say the nicest things." Ariciel tapped her palm with her staff. "Come on." 

 

Mareva sat down next to Hirudo, watching Skullcrusher try to hit Ariciel without success.

"She is enjoying herself. I hope he is as well."

Hirudo produced an old earthenware pipe and a pouch of tobacco. He started to fill the pipe.

"In his mind, he almost has her. I honestly believe he expects her to start begging for mercy in but a few moments."

Mareva looked at Hirudo sideways. "In earnest, Sir. Why are you bothering with these zlotniks? I can tell they are nowhere near your weight-class."

Hirudo pulled at his pipe, blowing out small clouds of smoke until the pipe was burning to his satisfaction.

"I was one of the three healers in a group of people who were mounting an assault on..." Hirudo puffed at his pipe. "Well, no place I would mention. We managed to come through with everybody still upright. Not a mean feat, let me assure you. We were all hard put to it. And then, we found one of _their_ healers was using a staff that was hugely better than any staff we had. That was the _reason_ we were so hard put to it. One of us healers was a Priest, and he already had something better suited to him. But my fellow Druid and I, sad to say, got caught in an entirely undignified argument over who should have the staff."

Mareva shook her head. "Arguments over loot. We should all be above that, and yet we never are."

"Indeed. We agreed that the staff should go to the better healer, who would benefit us and our group most by using it. Then, to determine who of us was the better healer, we set up a small challenge. The person who could take a group of incompetent idiots furthest, should be the one to get the staff. We both set off from Moonglade fourteen days ago, with a group of fighters about as competent as the one you see before you now."

They looked. Skullcrusher ran at Ariciel, sword held high. Rather than furnish Skullcrusher with a belly full of quarterstaff, Ariciel sprang to one side, stuck out her leg, and sent Skullcrusher rolling. Hirudo looked up to see if Skullcrusher might fall on his sword and need a healing spell or two. Skullcrusher sprang to his feet. Apparently not.

"My colleague has apparently just teleported into Moonglade, the last of his fighters having died of an excess of Quillboar somewhere near Thorn Hill in the Barrens." Hirudo took a long draught from his pipe and blew out a few perfectly round smoke-rings. He smiled at Mareva. "If I manage to get at least one of mine to the Stagnant Oasis, the staff is mine." 

 

Sweat was pouring down Skullcrusher's face, and his arms shook as he held his sword aloft. He hadn't managed to score even a single hit on Ariciel. Ariciel, from the kindness of her heart, had held back.

"You leave me no other _choice_ , Lady," said Skullcrusher. "Forfeit now, or _perish_ by my most powerful _technique_."

"What, even more powerful? This I have to see."

"Very well, my Lady. It has been a _pleasure_ to know you. You may wish to _pray_ now."

Ariciel crouched down. More fighters had died from complacency than from any other reason. Fights are rarely won by the winner, but mostly lost by the loser. And so on and so forth. Bring it on.

Skullcrusher took a deep breath, then shouted.

" _BLADE_ _STORM!_ "

In front of Ariciel's very eyes, Skullcrusher transformed into a veritable whirlwind made of steel, remorseless, pitiless, unstoppable. He approached her, and Ariciel backed away, back, and further back, until she came to a large oak tree. Skullcrusher's sword embedded itself in the trunk of the tree, and Skullcrusher went flying, landing on his back with a great clang of plate armour some five yards away. Right. Enough is enough. Ariciel sprang forward, put her boot on Skullcrusher's arm and put the end of her staff under his chin.

"Yield or perish."

Skullcrusher looked up at Ariciel. "Lady, I have no weapon, and I must yield."

Ariciel nodded, took her staff away and helped Skullcrusher to his feet. Then, she walked to the campfire, preparing to watch Skullcrusher try to remove his sword from the tree.

"Lady?"

"Hm?"

"As you have won, I will now massage _your_ shoulder as a prize."

Ariciel's pale grey eyes shone at Skullcrusher.

"Piss off," she said, with feeling. 


	8. I do not normally do this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellandriel and Teacher reach Theramore, and have their first encounter with the Keldorei. Ariciel, Mareva and their unsatisfactory companions reach the Dry Hills in the Barrens, and also meet interesting people. And Stetson wanders into the Necropolis of Drakuru, and encounters a few friends he hasn’t met yet…

"Do you notice, Thero'shan, how the mud is changing in consistency the further North we go?"

"No, Shan'do. I'm afraid that fact has eluded me. I was observing the rain. The drops are becoming smaller, which aids in the penetration of cloth such as that which is presently on my back."

"Only low-order minds, Thero'shan..."

"I know Shan'do. I am also studying the change in the temperature of my skin."

Teacher laughed. "You are a _cold_ fire mage? Shame on you, my student. Feel my arm."

Ellandriel did, and found that Teacher was quite warm, despite the cold rain and the omnipresent mud.

"I knew a woman once, who would walk around in the snow wearing nothing but her underwear, with everyone else packed up in a whole herd worth of yeti fur. Just to show everyone how well she was able to control her body temperature. Needless to say, she did not lack for people offering to keep her warm by other means, freeing up her body magic for more important things." Teacher grinned, eyes fondly looking miles away. "Shameless hussy. Inspired a whole range of art."

"Um..." Ellandriel looked in front of her feet. There were certain things that you didn't want to imagine your parents doing, nor your Teacher, thank you very much.

"But be that as it may, try using a very _very_ gentle Combustion spell on yourself. That will keep you nice and toasty."

Ellandriel slowly turned her face towards Teacher's. Combustion was a fairly heavy attack spell. She'd been concentrating on making it burn brighter. Teacher laughed, put an arm round Ellandriel's shoulders.

"Yes, that was a joke, my Student. Simply channel a very small amount of fire magic into your body's core, and it will induce you to produce more heat. You will be hungry sooner, but that hardly matters does it?"

Ellandriel studied Teacher's face for a few seconds to see if _this_ was a joke, then did as she was told. Within seconds, she was steaming.

"And there you have it. Dedication to the Arcane does come with its sacrifices, but one of the rewards is warm toes, no matter what."

Ellandriel said nothing. She looked ahead, pointed.

"There's a road there."

"Road? That didn't use to be there. It seems the Humans are growing ambitious. Good for them. I hope they manage to keep it clear of mud."

 

 

They found the road in as good repair as anyone could wish for, and marched along until they reached the gates of Theramore, the main Human settlement in Kalimdor. There was a stone gate, grassy areas. Human soldiers patrolled, or practiced swords in pairs. There were Dwarves, talking and laughing together in their strange, throaty language. Teacher went to ask one of the guards where the inn was, while Ellandriel took in the sights. There was a big yowling, yawning sound behind her, and she looked round. She took a quick breath. Behind her, a band of Night-elves had just come riding up on their black-and-white striped riding tigers. One of the warriors saw her, and grinned, rolling his shoulders. Ellandriel wanted to shrink back, but High-borne Night-elves don't do that. She raised herself to her full height. Her face turned to stone. The warrior grinned even broader, and bent his bare arm in a way that drew rather a lot of attention to his muscles. Then, there was a shout, and all the Night-elves rode on in the direction of the Keep. There was a hand on Ellandriel's shoulder and she looked round quickly.

"Try not to look too arcane, Thero'shan, and all will be well. Warrior men. Simply tell them how big and strong they are, and they're like wax in your hand."

"Those are... Keldorei."

"Yes they are," said Teacher. "But these are not times to be picky."

Ellandriel looked at Teacher with eyes like saucers. "Surely, Shan'do, you are not suggesting..."

Teacher laughed, looked at Ellandriel's face, then laughed even louder and leaned over to her.

"Let's find the inn first, Thero'shan. First one of us to find a companion gets the room."

Ellandriel simply stood still, staring at her teacher, who took a deep breath, and held Ellandriel's shoulders.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Thero'shan. Stop worrying. You do not have 'High-borne Mage' written on your forehead. Even if you did, that brute probably couldn't read it. Or if he did, he wouldn't care. And even if he did care..." Teacher's smile became suddenly grim. "You could probably knock him over long enough to get away. You are not helpless, Ellandriel. Please do not disgrace my teachings with low self-esteem."

"Yes, Shan'do," said Ellandriel.

 

 

Ellandriel sat at the table. Back in Eldre'thalas, the food would have seemed rather coarse to her. The cod had been fried in a batter rather than steamed in a white wine. The potatoes had been chopped into wedges, then fried with the skin still on. She had to trust the landlady that the dollop of green goo had once been peas. The wine lacked all depth of flavour, and tasted like they had caught it just before it would turn into vinegar. None of that mattered now. The food was hot, and there was a lot of it. They were in a corner of the common room, close by the double door. There was a chandelier fashioned out of a ship's wheel, with a few candles in. Ellandriel was concentrating on her plate, when someone knocked into their table. She jumped, and looked up, into the winning smile of the Night-elf warrior.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Ellandriel gave him a look that would have frozen lesser Elves. The warrior only grinned, waved, and joined his mates at the table by the fireplace. Teacher snorted.

"Excellent. No giving away the goods too soon."

Ellandriel sneered. "I have no intention whatsoever of giving away any 'goods' to that brute, now or in the future."

Teacher picked up the glass of liquid headache that the Humans dared call 'wine' here. They had both red _and_ white, so any notion of Humans being unsophisticated yokels was based on nothing but vile rumour.

"Chance companions. Met for one night of unbridled passion, then never seen again. There is something quite liberating about it, Thero'shan. You can show parts of yourself that you would keep carefully hidden from a lover of a hundred years."

Ellandriel looked into Teacher's eyes. "At the risk, Honoured Teacher, of repeating myself, I do not intend to show any part of myself to that... person."

"Why not? He looks like a fine figure of an Elf. If I were you I know what I would do. But you are obviously the one he is interested in. Opportunity knocks."

"Do you really think I am going to..." Ellandriel jerked her head in the direction of the fireplace. "With _him_?"

Teacher bent over to Ellandriel. "No, my Student. What I think you are going to do is to shoot upstairs into the room, bolt the door behind you and hide under the covers. I think that, because you are afraid of any shadow with long ears, even if they are your own."

Ellandriel's mouth fell open.

"Still," said Teacher, pushing away an empty plate, and sitting back, "A good night's sleep is not a bad thing. Much to be preferred over a breathless night with, I can't help noticing, a rather energetic looking young man."

At that moment, the bartender walked up to their table with a bottle and two glasses, which she put on the table. She pulled the cork out and poured a bit in Ellandriel's glass. Ellandriel looked up, and swallowed. She had noticed the one-eyed woman behind the bar earlier, and didn't quite know where to look.

"Um... We did not order any wine."

"That's right Miss. It comes from the gentleman at the table there." The bartender bent down, and whispered. "If he gets forward with you Miss, just give me a whistle and Craig and I'll throw the bugger out. We like _all_ our guests to keep civil."

Ellandriel sighed, tasted the wine. To give the Warrior his credit, it was much better than the one they'd just enjoyed. She nodded at the bartender, who filled first Teacher's glass, then hers. Teacher looked amused.

"Shan'do, what is the etiquette for telling him to get lost?"

Teacher raised the glass to the group of Elves at the other table, nodded, then drank the wine.

"I don't know. I never have."

There was a cough. Ellandriel was not surprised to see the warrior standing by their table. From the table by the fireplace, his friends were watching with interest whether he would return to them with his personality intact.

"Ishnu dal-dieb," said the warrior. Good fortune to your family. He put his hand on his breast and bowed to them.

"Ishnu-alah, Soldier," said Teacher, "And thank you for the wine. It is of much better quality than the House Red."

"We have been coming here for a while. They do not squander their good wines on the transients, however worthy."

"That is wisdom," said Teacher. "Will you join us? There is, I think, a glass or two left in the bottle."

Ellandriel felt like kicking her Honoured Teacher under the table. The warrior bowed, sat down and now revealed the glass he had been hiding... well, _holding_ behind his back. Teacher raised an eyebrow at Ellandriel, and looked pointedly at the bottle. Ellandriel sighed, picked it up and poured red wine into the warrior's glass.

"Thank you, Lady," said the warrior, looking into Ellandriel's eyes. "Your good health."

He held up his glass to her, and Ellandriel could not courteously do anything but touch her glass to his.

"And yours."

"Where do you come from, Lady, if I may ask?"

"Feralas," said Ellandriel.

Teacher nodded. "We have been on a journey to study the flora and fauna of that area, most notably the _Quercus_ _Feralaensis_ , and other species."

The warrior nodded at Teacher, then his eyes returned to Ellandriel.

"I have been in Feralas, Lady. Fighting the Grimtotem Tauren, an uncommonly ferocious clan. I pray my work there helped keep you safe."

"I am sure it has, Soldier," said Teacher, standing up. "And now I must leave you, because I have to arrange for our further travel to the Eastern Kingdoms."

Ellandriel's jaw dropped before she could help it. Was Teacher really going to leave her alone with this large, brutish, Keldorei warrior who was probably sworn to... to _kill_ her if he found out about her origin?

"Shan'do? You'll need me to... to assist you, don't you?"

"Nonsense, my apprentice. I am quite capable of booking passage on a ferry without even your assistance. Enjoy your evening." Teacher nodded at the warrior. "Sir."

Before Ellandriel could speak another word, Teacher had walked out of the door, leaving her with the warrior, who had a look in his eyes that combined amusement, a measure of smugness and... a few other things less easily placed.

"Lady, I must say I find your voice most intriguing. Where do you come from?"

"I..." Ellandriel closed her eyes a moment, then shook her head, and looked into the warrior's eyes. Her voice was soft and not unkind, as she asked him. "Soldier, what is it that you want from me?"

The soldier didn't answer immediately, as if he was considering what kind of an answer to give. Then, he laughed softly.

"My lady, you ask, and I must answer. I sense about you an air of great loneliness, and I find you very attractive. I would like to invite you to a private place, and there find a few hours of comfort in each other's arms."

Ellandriel stared at him. Lavish and insincere compliments, boasts about his agility with his body magic, sad stories about how lonely life in the army was, pledges of undying love at first sight, all that she could have expected. Complete frank honesty, never. She warmed to him for it, but not enough, not nearly enough.

"The bartender told me to warn her if you would get too forward with me, and she would throw you out."

The soldier took a small sip of wine, and shrugged. "She would not need to, Lady. All it takes is a single word from you. But you asked me a question, and I answered it sincerely."

"Do you often invite strange women into your bed?"

The warrior shook his head. "Usually, they invite me."

"And none have done so today?"

"Luckily, no. I doubt one more beautiful than you would."

Ellandriel thought on that remark for a while. Nobody had ever commented on her beauty before, and she suspected the motives of anyone who did. Except, this soldier had already explained his motives to her.

"I have never slept with any stranger. Why would I do so now?"

"For no other reason than the obvious. We would both enjoy it."

"There are better reasons than that, Soldier."

"Are there? What are they?"

"To tighten the bonds of love between lovers. To say to them that you will remain with them until the end. To heal the sorrow of those close to you. One does not squander such a gift."

"I will not say you are wrong, Lady, but I am a warrior, and we are at war, and death is never far away, be it mine or my enemies'. 'Until the end' may well be measured in days, or even hours. Measured against that, every gift of pleasure is precious." The warrior put his hand on Ellandriel's. "Even a single touch."

Ellandriel pulled her hand away, then felt like apologising. From his clan markings, he was about her own age. He radiated calm, quiet confidence. 'Usually, they invite me', indeed. She glanced at the table by the fire. The other warriors were done staring, and talked among themselves in Darnassian. She was alone with a man who could easily break her neck with his bare hands. Trained to kill without hesitation.

"How do I know that your touch will be gentle, Soldier? Warriors do not have a good reputation. I would be in a quiet place with a man of violence."

"That is true, Lady. You are no fighter. A man of my abilities could easily do you harm, and you would be helpless to prevent it. But not I. The very reason of my existence, my training, my _essence_ , is to protect you from harm. You are precisely who I would die to keep safe."

Ellandriel was not convinced. This warrior was, in a way, her enemy. All she had to do was say: 'I am Ellandriel, Fire-mage of the Shen'dralar High-borne'. He would recoil in disgust, spit at her feet for studying the unnatural magics that she did. She was not even sure that he couldn't sense it on her somehow. He might be honour-bound to kill her for breaking her exile. She would be mad to go with him.

"How can I trust you, brave soldier?"

The warrior looked deep into her eyes, then bowed his head. "Forgive me my impertinence in asking you. I apologise if I have insulted you. Elune a'dore, Lady."

Ellandriel's breath stuck in her throat. Almost like a bright beam of moonlight that briefly appears from behind the clouds, shines down, and then is gone, the moment struck her. For the briefest moment, there were two Elves sitting in her chair, in the very same space. One of the Elves turned back, pushed the half-empty wine glass away from her, and slowly, quietly stood up and left, bowing her head, forever a slave to fear, forever a burden on those made of sterner stuff. The other Elf, between the time it took the soldier to stand up and half turn away from her, reached out, and touched his arm.

"Wait."

* * *

 

Hirudo the Night-elf healer stood still, and looked out over the plains. To avoid unwelcome eyes, not to mention swords, they had climbed a small mountain ridge that separated Ashenvale from the Barrens, rather than take the road that led to the Mor'shan Ramparts, brimming with Orcs.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Northern Barrens, and I use the word in the loosest possible sense. We are now well and truly in Horde territory."

"Great," said Ariciel, searching the plains below for things unfriendly.

Hirudo nodded. "To be absolutely clear, fellow adventurers, let us try to avoid fighting as much as possible. If we have to, I would prefer it if we took the initiative. I do not wish to lose any of you needlessly."

Mareva said a few words in her own language. Ariciel didn't understand the words, but the sarcasm was hard to miss. Mareva had told Ariciel about the healer's reasons for being here. But what, really, could they do? They were going in roughly the same direction for a good fifty miles. There was safety in numbers, even if some of those numbers were a little smaller than others.

Skullcrusher laughed much too loudly for Ariciel's comfort.

"Are you _afraid_ of a few little _Orcs_? Never worry. Grimm Skullcrusher is here. Do you know how I got my name?"

Mareva glanced at the warrior. "You use your skull for crushing rocks?"

"Haha! Of course not, though I _forgive_ you for that notion, being from _foreign_ places and not _used_ to our speech."

" _Ya idoo kuda sam Czar idyot peshkom,_ " said Mareva, bowing gracefully.

"I got my name for _crushing_ the skulls of _Orcs_ , do not ask me how many, because I _cannot_ count them."

Ariciel looked at Mareva behind Skullcrusher's back and held up three fingers. Mareva snorted.

"We can take 'em," said Ripface. "I'll just hit 'em with me sword."

"We do not _wish_ to take them," said Hirudo. "We must move like the wind, like a shadow among the shadows, unseen, unheard."

"We can do that," said Ariciel.

 

 

They slid down the mountainside, and made for the Dry Hills, so named because they were hills, and they were dry. From there on, they would move South, giving the Horde settlement at the Crossroads a wide berth. There, Ariciel and Mareva would turn East towards Ratchet and on to Booty Bay. Hirudo and his companions would continue South, to Theramore. They were trusting to luck not to meet any Horde patrols. Luck, sadly, failed them. Mareva saw them first, gave a cry of warning and went to one knee, pointing forward. A band of Orcs was heading roughly in the opposite direction they were.

"I do not think they have seen us," said Mareva. "But unless they are all blind, they will."

As the Orcs came closer, they could see that there were two groups of four, roughly fifty yards apart. The two groups were wearing different tabards. Mareva touched Ariciel's shoulder.

"They are racing each other. I suspect that there is a reward for the group to arrive first."

Ariciel nodded. "Hirudo? Mareva and I will circle round. We grab the last group first. I charge at them, make them look at me, and you hit them from behind. It'll take the first group a while to realise what happened and turn around, and by that time I hope a few of them will be down. So we won't have the entire group at once. Try to be as quiet as possible about it."

Ariciel turned to her fast, spotted Cheetah form, Mareva to her Ghost Wolf form. Giving the groups a wide berth, they ran round, then came up behind them, easily outrunning them. When they were close enough, Ariciel changed to her Dire Bear form, and charged, growling low. The Orcs were taken completely by surprise, but still, they turned round quickly and drew swords. Mareva dropped her wolf shape, called for her totems and attacked with fire and lightning. Suddenly, her eyes grew large.

"No, _no_! You imbecile!"

A few dozen yards ahead of them, Skullcrusher and Ripface leapt upon the _first_ group, with fierce battle-cries and much flourishing of blades. Hirudo, his back towards Mareva, was frantically casting healing spells on them.

Mareva kept firing, swearing profusely in Draenei. She winced as she saw Ariciel take hits from several Orcs. Bear-Ariciel breathed in deep, and roared. All the Orcs fell back for a moment, then moved back in. Mareva looked from Ariciel to their half-wit warriors. What to do? Ariciel was taking hits, but as of yet, she was not slowing down. Frankly, Mareva didn't care what happened to the warriors. She bared her fangs, and concentrated on hitting Ariciel's group as hard as she could. At that moment, Ariciel roared again, and green magic crackled on her fur. With infinite rage, she tore into the Orcs, killing one outright, dropping another, heavily wounded and bleeding. Her claws tore away at the other two until they too fell to Mareva's fire and Ariciel's claws. The bear-form shimmered, disappeared and Ariciel fell to her knees, with several bleeding wounds on her. She raised her hands, palms upwards, and started casting healing spells on herself. Mareva joined in with her own healing magic, until Ariciel stood up, face pale, but defiant, nodding her thanks.

They looked. Hirudo was still casting healing spell after healing spell on Ripface and Skullcrusher, who were lost in an adrenalin-fueled rage, hacking away blindly at their group of orcs, none of which had any real wounds yet. Worse, some of them had seen Hirudo and his healing magic, and were circling round towards him, meaning to kill the healer first, and then the rest of their attackers, at leisure.

With a growl, Ariciel turned back to her bear form, and charged in, and through the Orcs. Her roar made all the Orcs look round at her as she ran forward, through, then turned round. Her eyes glowed red, promising death for all.

Now that all the Orcs were turned towards Ariciel, Skullcrusher and Ripface, not to mention Mareva, found it easier to hit hard. Hirudo could concentrate his healing on Ariciel, and the tide had turned. One of the Orcs turned and ran, meaning to get reinforcements, but Mareva's lightning bolts caught up with him, and he fell. The other three Orcs were soon overcome. Ariciel dropped her bear form and stood still, fists clenched by her sides, blinking as a small trickle of blood ran into her eye. She wiped her face with her sleeve, then slowly walked towards Skullcrusher.

"Well _fought_ , my lady. And may I say you are _beautiful_ when you're..."

Moving quicker than sight, Ariciel hit Skullcrusher with a fierce right hook to the face. Skullcrusher staggered backwards, and Ariciel swept his legs from under him with her staff, so that he landed on his back with a dull thud. She leapt on top of him and slapped him across the face with the back of her hand. Then, she bowed down over him.

"You Light-bereft, blithering _idiot_! What do you think you were doing? _I_ am the tank here. _I_ am the first attacker, and _you_ , you miserable excuse for a warrior, will hit what I am hitting, _after_ me!" She put a hand on his throat, and squeezed. "I very, very much doubt that we will be in a fight together again, but if we are, then you will _behave_!"

A hand was on Ariciel's shoulder, and her head snapped round to see Mareva.

"You are choking him. If you kill him, how will he learn?"

"Pah!" Ariciel stood up, and turned round to Hirudo. "And you, mister Healer. Did you not see fit to throw a couple of regrowths my way?"

Hirudo sniffed. "I cannot heal two groups at the same time when they run in different directions. You seemed to be doing fine, so I concentrated on those who needed it most."

"Our foes lie dead, while we draw breath," said Mareva. "Ever be it so. Now let's move."

"Not without looting the bodies," said Ripface. "That's the _fun_ part."

* * *

 

A miserable ghoul ran in the direction of Voltarus, the necropolis of Drakuru. The disguise did not give Stetson much scope for facial expressions, but he was furious. Ungrateful, stupid, annoying... _bastard_! Stetson jumped over a fallen tree, swiping at the branches as he went. He looked forward, into the distance. The pyramid hovered a few hundred feet above the ground. How in the name of the Light was he going to get up there? The necklace made a crackling sound that did not fill Stetson with much confidence in its abilities. A group of ghouls came running past in the other direction. None of them even gave him a look, so that, at least, seemed to be working. Greetings, brothers! Stetson grunted. Not funny. He came to a small clearing in the forest, where he could see some sort of magical device. As he watched, ghouls ran into it, and disappeared in a flash of light, only to come out again a bit later. Ah.

Stetson took a deep, rattling breath, and started to walk, when something made him stop. A little way ahead stood a creature made of shadow, arms crossed. It looked over the ghouls who were doing the bidding of Drakuru in the clearing. Stetson frowned. That, he decided, must be one of those blightguards that Mr. Stefan Vadu had warned him about. With due care and attention, Stetson stalked a long way round, until he finally made his way to the teleportation device. Stetson did not like portals. They worked by tearing you, atom by atom, through the Twisting Nether and rebuilding you again on the other side. Which, no matter how much they reassured him about the failure rate being negligibly small, always gave him a bit of a pause. Nothing for it, though. Without thinking, Stetson ran into the machine, blinked and found himself in a small room, with a glowing green floor, and exits to the Four Winds. Bridges led to the rest of the necropolis. There was no railing between him and a sheer drop. Presumably, not blundering off the walkways was one of the Tests that awaited new Scourgelings. The necklace around his neck suddenly started fizzing, and Stetson ran, to a hiding place behind some crates. The disguise failed, and suddenly there was a very large Draenei man in a place filled with Scourge ghouls and zombies. Forcing himself to remain calm, he spoke the few syllables that activated the disguise, and a moment later, he was a ghoul again. Muttering dire curses at the address of Stefan Vadu, Stetson looked round.

"Hey mon!"

Stetson almost leaped out of his mangy, louse-bitten skin, and turned round. Behind him was a large Troll in a cage. Stetson looked up into his eyes.

"You be no Scourge mon. What say you open dis cage no?"

"How?"

"Be you having shit for brains, mon? Open dem locks. Bite dem through if you have to."

Stetson looked at the cage. It was about large enough for a Troll to stand in or sit down. It was locked with a simple bolt, and the bars were close enough together that the occupants couldn't operate the locks themselves. He looked up again.

"Why are you in here, 'mon'?"

The Troll rolled his eyes, grunted. "Overlord Drakuru, he _love_ me, mon. Be wanting to have some peacebloom tea with me. Chat 'bout dem old days, when he still be fuckfuck stupid ice Troll dat got caught by dem Humans. He be wanting to thank us for not wasting dem lives of many Troll trying to bust him stupid arse out of there."

"If I do let you out, what will you do?"

"Be doing de nice _Capoeira_ dance, mon. What you think? Get my stupid green butt out of here, and warn dem folks back home. If you have not got dis through you thick skull mon, we be no Horde here, we be no Al-li-ance. We be the living. And I want to _stay_ living. Now open dem locks, or be pissing off."

Stetson nodded, then pulled at the lock. The door opened, and the Troll stepped out, stretching.

"I have a disguise. How are _you_ going to get out of here?"

The Troll chieftain grinned. "I be freeing my brothers, mon. We be two handsfull. You never try to stop two handsfull of angry Troll, mon. I know you never did because you not a smear on dem floor."

"Right," said Stetson. "Blessings upon your family."

Stetson turned round, but there was a hand on his shoulder.

"T'ank you mon. You may be thick as a brick, but you know who to trust. I not be forgetting your face."

 

 

Stetson the Scourge Ghoul sat on top of one of the crates and watched two handsfull of angry Trolls break out of the necropolis. Trolls having only two fingers and a thumb on each hand, they were only six, but that didn't seem to bother them much. They made straight for one of the bridges, into the teleportation device, and were gone. He had to admit. When Trolls got moving, they really moved. There was a flash of light above the teleporter, and another Troll appeared. He looked round, and saw Stetson.

"You. What be all dis noise, mon?"

Stetson cowered down, pointed a trembling hand at the open empty cages.

"Oh mon. How did _they_ get out?"

Stetson shrugged, raised his hands. The large Troll took two steps forward, and grabbed Stetson by the throat.

"Be you _blind_ as well as dumb, mon? A bunch of Trolls making a big noise and you just go on toting dem bales?"

Stetson raised his arms to his face, and shivered. The fact that the necklace was once again fizzing ominously was making this easier. The big Troll dropped him.

" _Loas_ bugger me. I must find a way of making new Scourgelings without eating dem brains. You got no jobs to do mon?"

Stetson ducked his head down, and made straight for the teleporter.

"I be needing to step up dem security in dis place," said Overlord Drakuru.


	9. No love lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellandriel is finally starting to enjoy herself a bit outside the safe and comfortable walls of the Athenaeum. Mareva's light sleep gains her some valuable insight into the motives of their Night-elf healer Hirudo, and Stetson has some of the less attractive aspects of Death Knights explained to him.

In a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange land, with a strange man, lay a strange Night-elf mage. Her eyes were closed, and a strange smile was on her face. His arm still lay over her waist, until she stirred, turned round to look at him. His massive fist, trained to slay enemies, gently stroked her hair.

"What made you change your mind, Lady?"

"Does it matter?"

"Your skin is so warm," said the soldier.

"Must be the exercise," said Ellandriel.

For a few more lingering moments, they looked into each other's eyes. Then he sat up, slowly.

"I have to go."

"Yes."

Ellandriel lay on her back watching him as he gathered up his clothes, pulled them on. Then, he stood by the bed and looked down on her. Ellandriel got to her feet, stood naked in front of him for a few moments, then wrapped her arms round him.

"Be safe, soldier. Elune light your path."

His hand ran from between her shoulders down to her bottom one last time, then they smiled, and the door closed behind him. 

 

There was a knock on the door. Ellandriel got up, unlocked it and let Teacher in.

"Good evening, my Student. I take it you enjoyed yourself? I thought he'd never leave."

"Shan'do..." There was a little edge in Ellandriel's voice.

Teacher looked up at the white-washed ceiling.

"I wasn't listening at the door, my Honoured Student. I was playing cards in the common room waiting for him to come down."

Ellandriel's eyes shone. "How did you know he was in here with me?"

"Because you, young Ellandriel, despite appearances, are not an idiot."

Teacher started to undress, putting robes, shirt, loose trousers on the chair beside the other bed. Ellandriel locked the door and got back into her own.

"I wonder what he's doing now."

Teacher shrugged. "Bragging to his friends about his prowess. Telling them with more detail than accuracy what he did to you, how you were helpless under his touch. Does it matter?"

"I suppose not."

Teacher turned round in bed, facing Ellandriel. "Are you still afraid of Keldorei?"

Ellandriel was quiet for a moment.

"Yes, I am," she said. "I told him nothing, not even my name. But if I had..." She pulled up the blankets. "I am less afraid than I was, though."

"He is a young man, born into a world where the Sundering already happened. The ones you need to be careful of are the dried-up ancients like me, who bear grudges for centuries. There are people I have not seen in all that time, and yet, I would kill them on sight if I did. Which is a terrible waste of tranquility, but there you have it." Teacher turned over in bed. "There will be time tomorrow for a decadently late breakfast. Tomorrow night, we sail, first Ratchet, then Booty Bay. I've made a decision, Thero'shan. I want to see with my own eyes the Dark Portal. Good night." 

* * *

Mareva woke up at the sound of someone moving past her. She opened her eyes a crack, and saw Healer Hirudo leave their camp. It wasn't much of a camp. Nothing could be found in the Barrens that would burn, and anyway, attracting the attention of the ever-present Horde would be unwise. Still, why would Druid Hirudo be wanting to leave them? The habit was to make Calls of Nature before you started your watch. Before she knew what she was doing, Mareva opened her sleeping furs, and quietly followed Hirudo. The Druid stopped at a small distance from the camp. As Mareva watched, he pulled some kind of device from his pocket and placed it on the ground in front of him. It glowed with a slow pulsating light. After a few moments, it started to make small noises. Mareva frowned. Communication devices? Someone had been selling things they should not have.

"Of course, it's me. Do you expect bloody Orcs to figure out how to use this?"

Mareva listened, but couldn't hear what the person on the other end of the connection was saying.

"Just North of Thorn Hill, and I've got two left. Though we picked up two passengers. A Feral and one of these goat-women. Caster of some sort."

Hirudo frowned, listening to the crackle of the person on the other side.

"Well, if anything, they're making my job _harder_. I have to keep them up as well as my own, and let me tell you, that's not easy."

There was some annoyed crackle.

"No, it's _not_ cheating. If _my_ warriors die, you've won. These women don't count."

"..."

"Well, it would if they were in any way shape or form competent, but I assure you, they're complete noobs."

Mareva's eyes narrowed. She could see why Hirudo would be downplaying their abilities, but Hirudo would have been short two warriors if it hadn't been for them. The device crackled again.

"To the road from the Crossroads to Ratchet, and not a step further. I'm sick to my stomach of those half-wits. When I see the Road, I'm porting in."

"..."

"Do you honestly think I'm going to slog all the way to Theramore if I don't have to? They're big boys, and anyway, they're just Humans. What do you care?"

Mareva tilted her head. That was a very interesting remark. Her opinion of Druid Hirudo had not been favourable to begin with, but now, it was below freezing. She'd heard enough. Time for a little Council of War with Ariciel. 

 

"These fools are going to get us killed," said Mareva.

They were marching South. They had passed Thorn Hill, and Hirudo was understandably in an excellent mood, congratulating his Warriors on their excellent work. There was a road leading South, all the way from the gold mines to the Northernmost part of the Barrens, but they were avoiding that for obvious reasons.

"When did you come to that conclusion?" said Ariciel. They were walking together, a little ahead of their companions.

"When I heard Druid Hirudo plan to teleport out just after the road to Ratchet," said Mareva. "I didn't know Druids _could_ teleport."

"Only to Moonglade," said Ariciel. "It takes almost all my mana and an eternity to cast the spell, but yes. Bearwalker taught it to me when I was on my quest for my bear form. So Hirudo is going to do a runner? Nice of him to tell us."

"When he does, I sincerely hope these warriors find someplace safe," said Mareva. "They may be zlotniks, but they do not deserve to be left stranded in a hostile place."

"Oh ye gods," said Ariciel. "The closest safe place is Ratchet. They'll be following us."

"Deep joy," said Mareva. "Let us try to leave before Master Hirudo does, and get a good headstart. If I hear the words 'Horny Draenei' one more time, I will start signalling Orcs."

"Heh. Don't blame me, _you_ were the one who brought it up in Winterspring."

Mareva looked ahead with a vague smile on her blue face.

"I had a good reason for that."

"To corrupt an innocent Night-elf? If I hadn't enjoyed it so much, I'd say shame on you."

"You, my friend, were _never_ an innocent Night-elf." 

 

At last, they came to the road. They were several miles East of the Crossroads. Before she could stop him, Skullcrusher had taken Ariciel's hand and kissed it.

"Fare _well_ , my lady. I hope you will _reach_ your destination without our _protection_."

"We will simply have to manage somehow," said Ariciel. "Coming Mareva?"

Mareva bowed to the incompetent warriors and the treacherous Druid. Then, she and Ariciel waved, and ran off along the road.

Ariciel sighed. "We should have warned them."

"That would have been my word against that of Druid Hirudo. They would not have believed us, and unwilling healers make very bad companions."

"I know," said Ariciel. "Still."

Mareva looked over her schoulder. "I understand. Shall we speed up a little? We are far enough awa-"

She stopped, turned round, and her mouth fell open. She pointed.

"Look!"

Back along the road, there was a large group of Orcish infantry on the move. As Mareva and Ariciel watched, they saw Skullcrusher, Ripface and Hirudo, and attacked. Hirudo changed himself to a spotted Cheetah, and ran. A little way off, they saw him raise his hands in the air. Magic flowed, and Hirudo changed to a thin cloud of green shining dust, then shot off to the North. Ariciel stared, eyes wide open.

"Oh, those poor bastards."

Ariciel took a step towards the fight, hesitated. Mareva's hand was on her shoulder. They looked at each other, then shook their heads.

"There are too many for us," said Mareva. "There is nothing that we can do."

In the space of a minute, the two Humans were hewn down. The Orcs hacked at them as they lay, then it was over. Ariciel's teeth showed in a feral growl.

"If I ever meet that Druid again, he's _dead_."

"Agreed," said Mareva. "I think now would be a good time to review our policy against using riding animals."

They pulled out the magical reins that summoned their mounts. Ariciel had a riding cat, Mareva a large, tusked elekk. They rode away to the East, as fast as they could.

"Bastard," said Ariciel. 

* * *

Stetson was in trouble. Almost as soon as he came out of the transporter, the disguise had failed again. Three of the ghouls had seen him, and given chase. Before long, he had a whole train of them, with no good way to get rid of them. All that kept him from either death of permanent ghoulishness were his hooves. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw five of the ghouls and... oh great. One of the Blightguards. It raised a hand, and shot a bolt of dark energy at him. Stetson tumbled and fell, and the bolt passed over him. Before he could get to his hooves, the ghouls were all over him, beating him with their fists. Stetson drew swords, called on the Naaru for healing, and slashed out with all his might, but he could see that it was no use. The ghouls knocked him over again, and he was buried underneath their foul, rotting bodies. He briefly wondered what it was going to be like, being a ghoul or a Death Knight for real.

The ground underneath him started to glow with an unholy green colour, and all the ghouls screamed. Stetson looked up to see a dark, terrible figure, wielding a big sword, standing over him. As Stetson watched, he held out his hand, and purple lightning shot from it, striking the Blightguard in the chest, and... pulling him _in_! With a monstrous cry, the figure's sword came round, cutting in half all those before it. A deep silence fell. The monster looked down on Stetson as he lay, then held out a hand and pulled him to his hooves.

"Are you done playing now, Hunter S'dezo'houn?" 

 

Before anything else, before even healing himself, Stetson raised his hands, and summoned Morgan to him. When he set off for the necropolis, he had dismissed his cat, reasoning that most ghouls did not have tigers following them, and that it would be a bit conspicuous. Morgan gave a big yowl, and head-butted Stetson in the stomach. Stetson winced. Then, finally, he looked at the Death Knight who had once been his brother.

"Thank you, Garz'houn."

"I just saved your sorry tail, and to kill you now would be a waste of effort. I will not warn you again, S'dezo. Do _not_ call me by that name again. I am Paxvobiscum now. Garz'houn is dead."

Stetson slowly looked his... brother up and down. He had put away his sword, and stood, arms crossed, looking down on him in exactly the same way he had always done when Stetson had failed to live up to his Paladin's standards. Stetson slowly nodded.

"Well then... Paxvobiscum. Where next?"

Paxvobiscum closed his eyes a moment. "Get out of this place, S'dezo. There is nothing here that you can do. The Lich King is moving, and we must move against him. Most probably, we will all die and Azeroth is doomed to fall into darkness. Go back to Nagrand."

"Leaving you here? With that... _disease_ still upon you? I cannot do that. I want you to come with me. I have new friends. I have things to do. I want you to share in them."

Paxvobiscum made a frustrated noise.

"Before you invite me to your house, S'dezo, do you think we'll have some time to visit a priest and have him turn me back into a Draenei?" Paxvobiscum grabbed his brother by the shoulders. " _Look_ at me. Don't look at your _brother_ , look at _me_! You are still not understanding it. I am Death itself! I am the ultimate creation of the Lich King!" Paxvobiscum turned away. "I can cause terrible, incurable diseases, merely by wishing it to be so. I can torment the living, beyond hope of endurance. And I can kill, as a final mercy. I am _made_ to cause death and suffering. Even now, now that the Lich King no longer guides my blows, I take _pleasure_ in death and suffering. When I do _not_ kill, my body yearns, aches for blood, for the screams of victims, the look of despair in their eyes, their pleas for mercy. When I am starved of those, I suffer pain worse than you can imagine. I still my hunger by destroying those who still serve the Lich King, but they are miserable creatures, who already wish to die. I can survive on them, but I really hunger for the lives of those who have hopes, dreams. They suffer more when I take them away." Paxvobiscum's eyes turned to Stetson. "You really do not want _me_ in your life, S'dezo. You want your brother. But your brother is no more. And I am... terrible." 

 

They were moving. Stetson was riding his elekk, Paxvobiscum rode a dark horse, given to him by the Lich King, to do his bidding. Paxvobiscum would take him to the Argent Stand, a place where Paladins of the Argent Crusade still clung to hope. They had a flight master. Paxvobiscum had offered to grab Stetson by his neck, and drop him onto the flight if he had to. Stetson was in no mood to protest. Garz'houn's face still looked as it had before, only a bit paler. He looked angry. That, too, was familiar. Usually, Garz'houn _had_ been angry with him. Now though, Garz'houn was angry at... who? Himself? The world at large? The Lich King? Any and all of the above?

Paxvobiscum stopped his horse, and gazed into the night. He pointed. Ahead of them, they could see a few carts, containing the dead bodies of Ogres, Night-elves, Humans, Trolls, Orcs, Alliance, Horde, people not associated with either. All were equal in the eyes of the Scourge. Body parts to build minions from. A little way of, there was a circle of runes, green, with an ominous glow like smoke spiraling up above it. Stetson could almost see faces in the smoke, but that could also be a trick of his imagination.

"That is where you would have ended up," said Paxvobiscum.

"I am a man of many parts," said Stetson. "Is that where you were... changed?"

Paxvobiscum shook his head. "These are mere foot soldiers. It takes much more effort to create a Death Knight. I awoke at Acherus."

"Even _now_ , you're still trying to one-up me. Isn't it time to give it a rest, Garz'a?"

"S'dezo. Please. Do not use that name. The memories, they hurt, and I can never go back to them."

"There's always hope."

" _Hope_?" Paxvobiscum glared at Stetson. "Let me tell you about hope. There was this woman. A priestess, mother of two children, and they had fallen into our hands. Every day, we would torture her children. We would burn them, infect them with diseases, cut them with knives, break their bones. Then, we would give her just enough mana to heal one of them, making her choose every night which of her children would sleep without pain, and which one would watch her brother be healed while she continued to suffer. And then, the next morning, we would start again, with the woman begging us to take her instead. And yet, she never ended it all as she could have. And why not? _Hope_ , S'dezo'houn. She still believed that she would be saved if she would only endure. I grew bored of her, and killed them. _I_ did that, S'dezo. I, Paxvobiscum. Paladin Garz'houn would have killed me without a second thought, even at the cost of his own life. Hope is a _curse_."

They continued on, until finally they came to a large road. Paxvobiscum made them stop again, looking carefully along it, up and down. This was where the giant Thrym patrolled. They crossed with care, then continued on, to avoid the battlefield in front of the Argent Stand. 

 

They were upon them, without warning. Trolls. Stetson recognised their armour from Voltarus: Drakuru's fighters. Paxvobiscum shouted, and his unholy spells started to take effect. Stetson sent Morgan in, then jumped back, firing arrows into their enemies. Even before they started, they knew it was futile. They were merely postponing the inevitable. There were simply too many of them. Poor Morgan was jumped by at least six warriors at once, and killed before Stetson's eyes. Stetson's arrows pierced as many as he could, until he too was overwhelmed, forced down. As a last resort, he feigned death, and knew no more. 

* * *

They were standing on a beach, in the dead of night. Teacher's eyes scanned the horizon, muttering. Finally, there was a light out at sea. Teacher walked out, almost to the edge of the water, and sent up a small fireball. Ten minutes later, a small sailing boat with dark grey sails bumped onto the sand.

"Your ladyship's vessel has arrived," said Teacher. "Pray be so good as to board."

Ellandriel looked at the boat. It was sailed by goblin sailors. Several of them were running back and forth between ship and beach, large bags on their backs. One of the goblins leered at Teacher.

"Go go go!"

Teacher leaped on board, and Ellandriel followed. She gave Teacher a look.

" _Smugglers_?"

One of the Goblins hissed at her. "Uncouth female, you use an ugly word. We are the alternative port authorities. Independent entrepreneurs. Speaking of which, where's the gold?"

Teacher pulled a small stack of gold coins out of a purse, handed them to the Goblin.

"Keep the change."

Without another word, the Goblins jumped to the ropes and the small boat flitted out onto the sea, her sail perfectly coloured to disappear against the night sky. The trip took the rest of the night, and about half of the following day. They were set down on another beach, about an hour's march away from the Goblin port town of Ratchet. Their captain didn't seem to hold much with official landing places, presumably for his health.

Ratchet was a sprawl of buildings, each a picturesque original. Goblins were an industrious people, and all round them was the noise of commerce. Clearly the Goblins followed the 'Drop The Buildings From A Zeppelin, And See Where They Land' school of town planning, though the buildings of the Trade Prince looked ferocious, and other buildings stayed away. Teacher walked into the inn, and called for a pint of the landlord's best. This turned out to be apple cider, a drink Ellandriel had never had before, but instantly liked. Fruit is good for you. They spent the rest of the day waiting for the Human ferry that would take them to the Eastern Kingdoms.

The ferry arrived in the early afternoon. She was a large wooden Human-built square-rigger named the Maiden's Fancy. As she stepped on board, Ellandriel looked with wonder, and not a little concern, at the crew. The Goblins by now didn't worry her too much. The Human who was first mate looked friendly enough, even with the eyepatch. The navigator, though... was a Troll. Ellandriel had read about Trolls, large shambling persons with long arms, outrageous haircuts and large tusks. There had been pictures, and speculations on a mysterious bodily excretion named 'mojo', which apparently made Trolls fierce. Ellandriel turned her eyes away and followed Teacher below decks.

Teacher walked into the back cabin, closed the door, then checked the lock.

"These are not the worst of people, Thero'shan," said Teacher. "Still, they _have_ been known to commit acts of piracy. Keep your gold out of sight, and lead them not into temptation."

"Yes, Shan'do." Ellandriel looked round. "Where are the beds? Are we sleeping on the floor?"

"What do you think we are, savages? Here. Take this."

Teacher handed Ellandriel a bundle of sail-cloth, and pointed out to her where to hang it up. It took a few attempts to get in, but once she managed it, it was amazingly comfortable.

"It also moves with the rolling of the ship," said Teacher. "This prevents sea-sickness."

"Sea-sickness, Shan'do?" 

 

Ellandriel had a rough time crossing, dividing her time between her hammock and the railing of the ship. She lay as still as possible, whimpering feebly, with a bucket close by. The galley Dwarf had dropped by, and asked her if the little miss might be wantin' anything, like a hearty breakfast o' bacon an' eggs, only the eggs might be a wee bit on the machoor side, he havin' had them since the last trip out. Ellandriel stared at the Dwarf in horror, then lurched for the bucket.

But finally, incredibly, it passed. Just as she was certain that her last hours had struck, she found, to her amazement, that the dreadful feeling had gone. And now, her stomach growled. She briefly considered conjuring up some mana bread, but no. She wanted substance.

She walked to the galley with a sway in her step, and got a large slice of ham and a hunk of bread from Galley Chief Steelbelly, which was memory within minutes. Then, she went above decks to find Teacher on the foredeck.

"Ah, Ellandriel my girl. You're back up and running, I see. Good good." Teacher pointed. "We're about to pull into Booty Bay." 

* * *

Stetson woke up, surprised that he was awake. A chill stole over him. and he looked at his arms, legs. Everything still seemed to be there. He looked up, into a tusked face.

"Hey mon. You awake?"

Stetson tried to get up. He hurt in more places than he cared to count. There was a bandage on his upper arm. He wanted bandages all over him. After a few tries, he managed to sit up. From habit, he looked round to see where Morgan was, and a sudden pang of grief hit him.

"You better get moving mon, da scary man don' look like he's got much time in this world."

Stetson stared, then got to his hooves. He would have fallen down again if the Troll hadn't grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

"He's _alive_? Where is he?"

"He still breathing now mon, is all I can say. _Loas_ don't let us heal dem Ju-ju bwoys. Nor you goat-men either. Be hard healing inside when all you can use is bandages."

Stetson followed the Troll, limping painfully to where the figure of a Draenei man was lying on the ground, under a blanket. Garz'houn's chest was moving, but it looked like it was costing him dearly just to keep going. Stetson kneeled by his head, hesitating, having to keep himself from falling over on top of Garz'houn.

"Brother?"

Garz'houn smiled through his pain, slowly opened his eyes.

"S'dezo. The Trolls said... you were alive. I thought they were just being... kind. Good."

Stetson looked at his brother's face. The Trolls had bandaged his head, more for the look of it than anything else. It was the wrong shape for a Draenei head. They had pulled a woollen blanket over him, for much the same reason.

"We'll get you patched up, Brother. The Naaru have not forgotten us."

Stetson started to concentrate, to call the Gift of the Naaru for his brother, but Garz'houn pulled his arm out from under the blanket. Stetson had to swallow hard as he saw that Garz'houn's hand was missing, as was half of his lower arm.

"No... Brother. No use. I am... done. Do not... grieve. It is finally... over." Garz'houn coughed, pain on his face. "One thing... Brother. Please. Do not... let this. Happen again. Make sure, no body."

Garz'houn closed his eyes. His lips moved, and Stetson had to lean over him to hear what he was saying.

"Find father. Tell him... Garz'houn... died, defending..."

"I will, Brother. I will."

Stetson imagined the shadow of a smile passing over Garz'houn's lips. His chest stopped moving. Stetson was alone in the wilderness of Zul'drak, with two handsfull of Trolls. It would have been pointless to remind Garz'houn that Father had been dead for over seven years now. There was nobody to tell of Garz'houn, and what he had done. Stetson looked up at the stars in the sky to the south. There _was_ someone to tell. When his work here was done, he would find her. 

 

Stetson stood in one of the ruined Troll buildings that littered Zul'drak. A large pyre of wood was stacked neatly, and on top of it lay Garz'houn's body. A lit torch was in Stetson's hand. He leaned on a crutch under his other arm. One of the Trolls put a hand on his shoulder.

"We be goin' now, Mon. When you light dem big fire, Drakuru's fuckfuck voodoo bwoys be coming thick as flies on raptor dung."

"Let them," said Stetson.

"Mon, we be pulling your tail out of the fire _once_ now. We not gwan to do dat again. Get you out of here. Argent Stand be East of here. You be safer there. Get some priest to look at you. There be some _bad_ voodoo on you."

"Thank you," said Stetson. "Thank you for everything that you have done."

The Troll grinned. "Be irie Mon. Your brother, he do most of dem work. We just clean up dem leftovers. Be right mon. Stay away from the voodoo."

With a grin and a wave, they were gone. Stetson pushed the torch into the kindling, and the dry wood burst into flame. He stood there for a long time, making sure that nothing was left that a Necromancer could bring back to life. Garz'houn had suffered enough. One more thing to do. Stetson closed his eyes, and let his hunter's magic flow. A few moments later, there was a familiar yowl. Stetson fell to his knees, and grabbed Morgan's manes, looking into his eyes. Was this the same Morgan of old? A replacement? Morgan head-butted Stetson, then lapped at his face with a tongue made of sandpaper. Stetson pushed him away and looked at him.

"Let me tell you about my brother, Morgan. Let me tell you of Garz'houn. And then, let's find Engineer Mareva, and tell her as well." 


	10. Why can't we all just get along?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariciel and Mareva arrive in Ratchet, with moods that are less than completely tranquil. Ellandriel arrives in Booty Bay, and is mighty glad of the change. Stetson finds himself in the city of Dalaran, and is rushed straight off to hospital.

It was late in the evening when Ariciel and Mareva rode into Ratchet. Their ride had been a silent and uneventful one. Ariciel looked round, then pointed.

"Inn."

Mareva scowled. "What do you mean by that?"

"The inn. It's over there."

"I am not blind. There is a sign outside. It has a picture of a pint of ale. That usually means that it is an inn."

Ariciel slowly looked round at her friend. "Right. Shall we go _into_ the inn? They have booze."

"Are you saying that I drink too much?"

"No, I am saying that I would quite _like_ to drink too much. I am feeling a bit below par, and I think a few pints of cider would be just the thing for that."

"Well, I am very sorry for spoiling your mood by allowing our companions to die."

Ariciel's face darkened. "As you said, there was nothing we could have done except die with them. If you think we could have won over about a dozen of Orc warriors, all by ourselves, please enlighten me as to how."

"So now you are blaming _me_? Why? You were there as well."

"Did I _say_ that I was blaming you? I don't think I did. So why do you think I'm blaming you?"

Mareva jumped off her elekk. "Right. So now you are claiming all the responsibility. What am I, just another shooter?"

Ariciel got off her cat, and walked up to Mareva. Her face was very close to Mareva's.

"You, my friend, need to calm down and have a few drinks."

"I, my friend, am going to walk to the docks and inquire when the next ferry leaves. Feel free to get wasted on the local rotgut in the meantime."

Before Ariciel could say another word, Mareva turned round and stomped off in the direction of the docks, leaving Ariciel looking after her with her mouth hanging open.

"What, by the Ancient Gods..." 

 

Mareva sat on the dock, legs dangling over the side, and watched the moon as it cast its white light over the rolling waves. Her face was motionless as she looked towards the North, where Stetson was. Tonight more than any other night, she wanted to be with him, walk next to him, talking or just keeping silent. Something was wrong. Mareva rather suspected that it would be something to do with his brother. She was afraid, terribly afraid, that something bad might have happened to Stetson. Being a Shaman meant that Mareva's mind connected to spirits. 'Spirit' was a word with many, many meanings, most of which were not used by Shaman. All things that were, had spirits. The spirit was what told things how to be themselves, or how to change, to become something else. There were simple spirits, like the spirit of steel. Pretty much all the properties of steel were now understood. And then there were the spirits of people, infinitely complex, chaotic, impossible to understand fully, even if you _were_ that person. All you got was glimpses, hints, and misinformation.

Something moved in the corner of Mareva's eye, and she looked to see a bottle. Ariciel stood next to her.

"No fun at all getting hammered on your own. Drink, you moody cow. It's the good stuff."

Mareva took the bottle and drank. Ariciel sat down next to her, looking up at the moon as she was, saying nothing, asking no questions.

"I am sorry," said Mareva, quietly.

"Hm?"

"I should not have been angry at you."

"No?"

Ariciel's silence was like a physical thing, a great Void, demanding, though ever so politely, to be filled with more words.

"I think I was channeling Stetson."

Ariciel said nothing, drank from her bottle, looked at Mareva.

"It is something I do. A gift I have. I pick up peaks and troughs of emotion on the people I..." Mareva paused. "People I love."

"Stetson," said Ariciel.

Mareva nodded. "Even this far away, I know something bad is happening to him. I had the same thing when you lost Lesta."

Ariciel nodded quietly. "Yes. That was bad."

"I think he has found his brother. I think their meeting was not a good one."

"Do you think..." Ariciel hesitated.

"I do not think he is dead. I did not feel it when Viral died." Mareva made a frustrated noise. "I am like a child looking at the console of a transdimensional engine. I _know_ that many angry blinking red things are bad. I do not know what is wrong. Nor do I know what to do about it."

"Hm. So this... channeling? Do you only get it for bad feelings?"

Mareva shook her head. "It is the power of the emotions, not the nature."

"So when Bannog and I..." Ariciel grinned.

Mareva laughed. "It says something about my friends that everyone I try to explain it to thinks of sex."

"You have friends with healthy appetites. So when _does_ the ferry leave, then?"

"I do not know. We will have to sit here drinking until it arrives."

Ariciel held her bottle upside down. "Inn is over there. Your round." 

* * *

Ellandriel stepped off the boat, onto the wooden boardwalks of Booty Bay, offering a small prayer of thanks to Elune for something solid under foot. Booty bay, in those days, was a thriving Goblin town that looked like it was stuck to the side of the bay with glue. It was a bewildering maze of boardwalks, bridges and passageways. Being seasoned travellers by now, they struck out for the tavern at once.

"Goblins, Goblins everywhere," said Teacher. "As though the world did shrink."

"Goblins, Goblins everywhere," replied Ellandriel. "Nor any drop to drink."

They grinned at each other and pushed open the door to the Salty Sailor Tavern. Teacher beat a Human and a Dwarf to a table, produced a map and spread it out, pointing.

"This is where we are. _That_ is where we're going." Teacher grinned. "The Dark Portal, apprentice. The actual Dark Portal that brought the Orcs here."

"I read that the Dark Portal was destroyed by the wizard Khadgar."

"Mostly, but not quite. The portal itself was broken and closed, but the connection remained. They opened it again later. I think they even rebuilt the stone gate."

"How do we go there, Shan'do?"

"Well, I've heard it said that they keep a permanent portal up in the Human city of Stormwind, but I can't say I quite trust the sanity of the person who told me that. So either we take a long slog through the jungle to the North, or we find some kind of boat and go by sea."

"Another boat, Shan'do?" Ellandriel found a way somehow to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.

"Why not? It took you almost a week to get over your sea-sickness. It would be a great shame not to take advantage of your new-found resistance to the ocean waves."

Ellandriel looked at the map again.

"How far a walk would it be?"

"Easily two, even three weeks. We would be travelling through Stranglethorn Vale, which is a humid jungle filled with dangerous biting animals and other Trolls."

Ellandriel tried to measure how far it was with her fingers.

"There are also biting insects there," said Teacher, "and unhealthy leftover magics. I would really recommend the boat. If you don't believe me, go and have a look for yourself while I try to find a fisherman or merchant willing to take us to the Blasted Lands." 

 

Ellandriel walked up the boardwalk to the gate of Booty Bay, determined to see the good parts of the jungle. The gate was the opening of a cavern, and the Goblins had set the jaws of a giant sea predator into the entrance to the cave. It was large enough for a horse and cart to drive through, and Ellandriel made a mental note to mention this to Teacher, and point out that a fish that size would have no problem devouring a small boat. The evening was quiet. A little breeze came from the North, carrying on it the smells of the Stranglethorn jungle. Sweet flowers. Rotting plants. Ellandriel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. If she tried, she could still feel the swaying movement of the Maiden's Fancy in her legs. She didn't like the idea of another sea trip at all, but when Teacher had something in mind, then that was the thing that happened. She turned to the right, down to a sandy path that led to the sea. She slowly shook her head. Even her night with the soldier had been a lesson of sorts. She looked over her shoulder to the West, and faraway Kalimdor. Not the worst of lessons, that. Still. Wasn't it about time that she started deciding for herself what happened to her?

The path led to a broad sandy beach, and Ellandriel walked to the sea, where the sand was firmer, and gentle little waves rolled in with a rushing sound. Ellandriel took off her boots and took a few steps into the cool water, feeling her toes slowly sink into the sand. She bent down, and scooped up a bit of the water, tasted it. Salty of course. She had read a few books on marine life, and they all had mentioned the high salt content of sea water, and how fish had to adapt themselves to it. Now, she knew for herself. Only certain fish, such as the salmon, could survive in both salt and fresh water. They would come in from the sea, swim upstream for miles and miles, leaping up waterfalls, at the risk of being caught by hungry bears, until they came to the very pool where they were born. There, the females would lay the eggs, the males would fertilise them, and then they would die from the exertion. Ellandriel laughed quietly at herself. Making yourself overcome your fear of possibly murderous Keldorei was easy by comparison. Would the final moment for a pair of salmon be as fulfilling? Would they look into each other's eyes underwater, touch their tails, then slip away with a smile?

"Wherever you are, my soldier, be well, be safe."

As she looked up, Ellandriel noticed a light a few hundred yards away, of a red lantern. She had read somewhere that Humans used red lights to read by at night so as not to spoil what little night vision they had. Elves simply read by the light of moon or stars. The light was at the stern of a boat that had just been pulled up on the beach. As she watched, the Humans brought down their sails. One of the sailors grabbed the anchor, walked a few dozen steps trailing the anchor chain with a rattling sound, then buried it into the sand. There was the sound of bottles clinking together. Well, thought Ellandriel, if we are going to sail, then I might as well make some inquiries.

She walked over to the Humans' boat. One of them had lit a small fire, and the others were drinking from the bottles. She stepped into the light.

"Good evening, Gentlemen, and good fortune to you."

The Humans stared at Ellandriel with their mouths hanging open. Her robes were dark, and none of them had heard her soft footsteps on the sand.

"Bless me, it's a Night-elf!"

"It's a Night-elf _girl_!"

The third Human gave Ellandriel a big grin. "Good evening, little damsel, and welcome to our camp. What can we do with you?"

Ellandriel frowned. That didn't sound quite right. She had learnt the Common Speech in class, and was certain that it should be 'do _for_ you', but maybe it was a regional variation. She smiled at the men.

"My teacher and I are looking for a ship willing to take us along the coast to the Blasted Lands."

"The Blasted Lands, eh? Oh you don't want to go there. It's a nasty place, full of Ogres, and Demons, and Centaurs. They'd have a tasty Night-elf like yourself for lunch, and you may lay to that! Much better to stay with us here."

"Regardless," said Ellandriel, "We must go there. If you would be willing to take us there, we could make it well worth your while."

One of the Humans got to his feet, and walked up to Ellandriel. She could smell the drink on his breath. He gave her a look that made her want to close her robes tighter.

"I think, your ladyship, that you can make this evening worth our while, and we won't even have to haul anchor."

Ellandriel's eyes opened wide. "I... I don't understand," she said, even though she understood perfectly well what the man meant.

The other Humans were also on their feet, and walked round so that Ellandriel was between the three of them.

"Got any gold, melady?"

"No!" Ellandriel looked from one Human to the other.

"Now will you listen to that, shipmates? No gold, says she. Times was, when womenfolk told no lies."

The other Human laughed. "Now how do you know she's a-lyin' cap'n? Maybe she was thinkin' of making the trip worth our while in other ways."

"Only one way to be sure," said the captain. "Off with those clothes, melady. Just so we can see what you have under 'em."

"I'll do no such thing! Stay away from me!"

"Now you just lay by, melady, and do what your Captain tells you." A sailor's knife appeared as if by magic in the captain's hand, and he held it up to Ellandriel's face. "Unless you want me to give you a hand, and me hand is a bit unsteady, along of the rum and the aggro. From what I know of Elves, it'd be a great shame to cut your skin along with that dress."

The captain reached out, meaning to tear open Ellandriel's robes. She slapped him in the face as hard as she could, screaming. Then, before anyone could move or speak, she closed her eyes and blinked forward twenty yards. She whirled round, raising her staff. Her hand glowed with fire magic. She bared her teeth at the Humans.

"You will learn what it means to cross the High-borne, degenerates."

She raised her hand high, then brought it down, viciously fast. A pillar of fire struck down between the Humans, and they were instantly set aflame. They screamed, jumped away and rolled on the floor to put out the flames. They got up, and all now produced knives. They spread out.

"You shouldn't of dun that, melady," said the captain, between clenched teeth. "Now, we'll make it _hurt_."

"Burn! Burn, you sons of Ogres!"

Ellandriel's hand shot forward again. She conjured up a fiery boulder, and smashed it into the Humans. The stench of burning flesh, perversely similar to a cooking smell, filled the air. One of the Humans screamed, and ran towards the sea. Ellandriel sent a fireball after him. It smashed into his back, and he fell down not five yards from the water. The other sailor pulled back his arm, and threw his knife at Ellandriel. She felt it bump into her shoulder. She raised her arm, and shot another fireball. It hit the sailor in the chest, and he fell down without another word. The captain, face red with burns, smoke coming from his clothes, teeth bare, stepped forward, knife out. Ellandriel took a deep breath, preparing another mighty fire blast. From about fifty yards away, a stream of elegant blue glowing missiles came flying and hit the captain in the back. His eyes stared blindly into Ellandriel's, then he fell to the ground in front of her feet. She looked up, and screamed.

"I could have _taken_ him!"

Teacher came walking up. "I'm sure you could. I am merely establishing my looting rights."

Ellandriel closed her eyes, shaking with rage. Then, without any warning, the spell of anger popped like a soap bubble, and she bent down, leaning on her staff. Teacher quickly stepped forward and held her, gently lowered her to the ground. Ellandriel suddenly sobbed.

"Thero'shan?"

"I'm alright." Ellandriel's teeth were chattering.

Teacher opened a weather-beaten backpack and pulled out a bandage.

"There is a knife in your arm. Hold steady and I'll get it out." 

 

Ellandriel sat on the sand, back against the hull of the boat, and drank something unspeakably vile from a bottle. The bandage felt warm round her arm, and the pain was only slowly going away. She took another swig. Teacher was inspecting the boat.

"Well, Thero'shan, this is marvellous. As I was going to tell you, I haven't found anyone willing to sail into an Ogre-mound, strangely. And here you are, and you've found us a boat. I am really _quite_ satisfied with your performance. Have plenty of merit marks."

"We're not in the Athenaeum anymore," said Ellandriel.

"Quite so. Since we left Eldre'thalas, you have bedded one stranger and killed three others. We'll turn you into an adventurer yet! In the light of that, I hereby promote you to Guardian of the Jib. All aboard, me hearties! Stand by to turn about."

"Do you know how to sail this boat, Shan'do?" Ellandriel slowly got to her feet and clambered over the side of the boat. Teacher dropped the anchor inside, and pushed the boat off into the sea.

"You should know better by now than to start any question you ask me with 'do you know', my student. The jib is the front sail. That rope is its sheet. With your good arm, when I say pull, pull." 

* * *

The great city of Dalaran floated and weaved before Stetson's eyes as the gryphon carried him and Morgan to Krasus' Landing. The gryphon was flying without noticably caring about his battered body. It hovered in mid-air for a few moments, then landed on the stone landing platform. The magic spell completed and the creature disappeared. Stetson fell to his hands and knees, eyes closed, teeth set. Aludane Whitecloud, the Dalaran flight master, walked up.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

With the last of his strength, Stetson raised his head.

"This is what we Mortals look like when we are _not_ alright."

He decided to go lie down on his face for a while. Yes, the stones would be nice and cool. 

 

There was something soft underneath him, and he was warm. It was quiet. It was dark. He opened his eyes, and looked round. He was lying on a bed, in some kind of infirmary. There was a bandage on his arm, with a little line snaking upwards to a bag containing a clear fluid. A little way away, a Human woman sat in a chair, reading a book by the light of a candle. As she heard Stetson move, she looked up, put a piece of paper in the book and walked over. She kneeled by Stetson's bed and looked intently into his eyes. Her voice was soft and kind.

"Well then, friend. How are you feeling?"

Stetson tried to move, and stopped.

"This is not a good day," he said.

The nurse smiled at him. "It's a better day than yesterday. You've had practically every curse known to the Scourge cast on you."

"They also hit me with clubs," said Stetson.

"Least of our worries," said the nurse. "I already took care of the broken bones and cuts. We can sew people's _arms_ back on when we need to. Feel like trying a drink?"

"Bit early in the day."

The nurse put a hand behind Stetson's head, pulled him up and held a cup of water to his lips. Stetson drank it all. Then, he sagged back. He looked up into the nurse's face.

"Why am I so weak?"

"After-effects of a fight with the Scourge. Doctor Olissara removed most of the curses, but some of them are still resisting. Now rest."

"Wait. Morgan, my cat. Where is he?"

A large feline head raised itself at the foot of the bed. The nurse earned several points in Stetson's book by scratching Morgan between the ears. Stetson closed his eyes and lay back down. Drinking a cup of water had taken all his strength. This was going to take a while.

"Wait, Miss."

The nurse looked over her shoulder.

"My name is Stetson. What is yours?"

"You can call me Miss Birch. Get some sleep, Hunter." 

 

Stetson had slept through the rest of the night, and most of the morning, when there was a noise and two Dwarves came walking in bearing a stretcher upon which lay the unconscious figure of a slender woman. They walked to the bed next to Stetson, counted to three and gently transferred her to the bed. Miss Birch came walking up. She raised the woman's face, pulled open her eye and looked at the green glow in it. There was a lot of blood on her clothes. She turned to the woman behind the counter.

"Miss Butler? Pair of scissors, antiseptic bandage, saline drip."

Miss Butler opened the counter and came running. Miss Birch cut away the Blood-elf's clothes, accepted a bowl of water and a cloth from Miss Butler and cleaned a deep cut in the woman's side.

"Sutures," said Miss Birch. Almost before she'd said it, a curved needle and thread were put in her hand. At great speed, Miss Birch put the stitches in, then put a bandage over the wound. Next, she looked at the woman's leg. That had been bandaged already, but not, apparently, to Miss Birch' exacting standards. With a pair of scissors, she cut away the bandage. Blood sprayed up, and Miss Birch winced, one eye closed.

"Bleeder! Hold it closed. Can't stitch this. I'll have to use a spell."

Miss Butler pressed her thumb down firmly in the woman's groin, and the bleeding stopped. Miss Birch found the wound, cleared away the blood and held her hand over the wound. Magic flowed, and the wound closed. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing hard, then nodded at Miss Butler, who took her hand away. No more blood came spurting up.

"Good. More bandage."

She wrapped bandages round the woman's leg, and gently laid it down on the bed. Her eyes scanned the Blood-elf's body for more injuries, but that, for the moment, seemed to be it. Her eyes fell on Stetson. She sneered at him.

"Eyes front, Hunter. Ange? Let's get her a gown. Poor girl's lying here with all her bits on display."

Stetson looked at the gold-inlaid ceiling of the infirmary. Naked Blood-elves held only very limited interest for him, but the uncompromising efficiency of the healers had fascinated him. Next to him, they put the Blood-elf in a white hospital gown, gave her clean sheets, put in a drip much like Stetson's own and pulled a blanket over her. The Blood-elf stirred in her sleep, made a painful noise, then sunk down in a deeper sleep. Stetson, for want of anything better to do, did the same. 

 

Stetson opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the pale, pinkish brown face of a Blood-elf, green eyes glaring at him from not three inches away. She was explaining something to him in her own language, which he couldn't make a word of sense of. The gist was clear, though. She did not like him very much. The fact that there was a cold metallic feeling against his throat was another hint. Stetson took a deep breath, and thought of Morgan. There was a low growl at the foot end of the bed, and a glowing pair of eyes appeared.

"Get off me, you scarecrow. You're bleeding on me. Or you will be soon."

" _Felix_ _maniculata_ _domestica_. Pah!" The pressure on the knife increased.

The door was thrown open, and in the doorway stood a tall woman. Both Stetson and the Blood-elf could not help looking at her. She had long, blonde hair. Her arms were crossed, and she looked at them with unbelievably bright blue eyes. Disapproval radiated off her.

"What is going on here? _Quid hic? Ut lectum mulier!_ "

The Blood-elf looked up at the Matron, painfully got to one leg and sat down on her own bed. The matron walked over, held out her hand. The Blood-elf looked back up at her, then put the knife in her hand. Matron put a hand under Stetson's chin, pushed his head up and checked him for cuts. There weren't any. She stepped over to the next bed, held up the blanket. The Blood-elf could no more have argued with her than her own feet could have refused to walk. She got back into bed. Matron put her hand under the Blood-elf's ankle, and gently put her leg under the blanket. Matron stood at the foot end of their beds, looking from one to the other.

"This is Dalaran. This is a _hospital_. Most importantly, this is _my_ hospital. For those reasons, _no_ fighting. Do I make myself clear?" She repeated this in Thalassian. The Blood-elf nodded. So did Stetson.

"Good."

The Matron's name was Olisarra. Olisarra the _kind_. That title was attached to her to clear up any misunderstandings that might arise from casual observation. As she turned round, Stetson looked aside at the Blood-elf. The Blood-elf looked back at Stetson, through slits of emerald green. Then, she turned her back on him and went to sleep.

Miss Birch came up, to see if everything was alright. She put a hand on the Blood-elf's shoulder. The Blood-elf shrugged, buried her face in the pillow. Then, Miss Birch looked at Stetson. She straightened the blanket, fussed a bit.

"All quiet now?"

"Not a problem," said Stetson.

"This place is a sanctuary. Anyone caught fighting is thrown out of the city. And we are about a mile up."

"Morgan could have taken her. I am not scared of her."

"Yes, and then you would _both_ have been thrown out." Miss Birch smiled sweetly. "You could have raced each other to the ground. _Everybody_ here plays nice."

"Tell _her_ that."

"Oh I will," said Nurse Birch. 

* * *

"Booty Bay!"

Ariciel risked her young life by standing on the bow-sprit of the Maiden's Fancy and pointing.

"Good," said Mareva. "Have you ever been to the Blasted lands?"

"Bannog took me to Nethergarde keep once, to look up some records. Had to run in through the Swamp of Sorrows. Very boring, so he showed me what Humans mean by..."

"Excellent. That means that we can fly into Nethergarde Keep. Unless you wish to take an educational stroll through the jungle."

"No thank you. Apparently you have to go without underwear in a jungle, because of crotch rot."

"You are full of interesting and useful information. Please be so kind as to keep it to yourself."

Ariciel stuck out her tongue.

"And _I_ know where the inn is," said Mareva. "And how to get to it. Which is not easy, let me tell you."

"Huh. I'll have more time to look than you do."

"Really? How so?"

Ariciel grinned, waved, then ran along the bowsprit and dived off, changing to her sea lion form in mid-air. Mareva watched her skip over the waves once, then shoot off to the East. She shook her head.

"Druids. If they weren't so much fun to be around, I don't know why I would bother." 


	11. Beyond the darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today, we find that most of our heroes are heading for the Dark Portal. Mareva and Ariciel are flying and running, Ellandriel and Teacher are merrily sailing along, and Stetson is heading for Darkness from the comfort of his sick bed. Not the preferred way to do it, but we can but accept that which Fate throws our way.

Ariciel sat with her back against a post on the docks of Booty Bay and watched the ship come in. She'd found the inn and could find it back, which left her just about enough time for a sprint to the docks, and to get her breath back. Mareva came off the boat as soon as the gangplank came down. Ariciel wiggled her fingers at her.

"What took you so long?"

"Convincing the captain that he did not need to turn round to fish you up," said Mareva. "If only I had thought of saying first that you were a Druid."

"Oh?"

Mareva's teeth shone at her. "As the Navigator put it, ' _Loas_ bugger me if I be fishing for a damn-damn Druid. Dey be takin' care of their own damn skins.' And then he got back to the helm."

"Everybody loves us, really." Ariciel got to her feet. "Wanna get a drink first or fly off for Nethergarde?"

"I remember the drink here. Let us find the gryphons." 

 

They flew to the main Human foothold in the area, a grim fortress called Nethergarde Keep. There were Dwarves there, and Humans. Their job was to guard the Dark Portal, to see if anything Demonic came out, and if it did, to hammer it back to the foul places from whence it came. A serious, mostly boring, and occasionally terrifying job that seemed to have cost them all of their sense of humour. Visitors were tolerated more than welcomed, and they preferred their guests leaving rather than coming. Mareva and Ariciel stayed only long enough to fill their water bottles from the well, and buy some trail rations from the quartermaster. As they walked to the gates, Mareva noticed a strange sort of platform, with a sturdy construction above it, from which there hung a rope. She pointed at it.

"Do you know what that is?"

Ariciel looked. "Ah. Yes. You put someone on the platform with a rope around his neck, and then you pull the lever and they drop down."

Mareva pulled up her upper lip, showing her fangs. "Ah. To cure their back problems."

"Yes."

"Permanently," said Mareva.

"You got the idea. Feel like staying here a while?"

"Not particularly."

They set off down the road that would take them to the Portal. The Blasted Lands lived up to their name: Sandy, barren, hot. This was caused no doubt by the magics that had willed the Portal into existence, and started the wars of Humans against Orcs. They stuck to the road, and saw no other creatures, except for a few basilisks, and some of the immensely tough boars that somehow still managed to survive here.

"Do Draenei go in for executions?"

"No. I do not say that none ever happened, but if they do, they do it out of sight. It is not in our nature to do so."

"Gives me the creeps," said Ariciel. "Interalia told me what goes on in the stockades in Stormwind. I wish she hadn't."

"I can understand revenge," said Mareva. "Killing those who have harmed you, or yours. Blood for blood. It is not justice, but it feels like it at the time. I have been angry. I have taken revenge. And then the brain regained control, and I felt... disgusted."

Ariciel stared, said nothing for a few dozen steps.

"I've been there. It feels so _good_ at the time. But it's not good for you."

Mareva looked over her shoulder, back at Nethergarde. "This is different. It is not a fight. They have a person in their power, who is no longer a threat. And they have _decided_ that that person should die. It is not a killing from the liver, it is a killing from the _brain_. And that frightens me. That they have to build a special place for efficiency frightens me more."

"Perhaps efficiency is not the only reason. Perhaps they want people to see that, if they don't keep their base instincts in check, they will die."

"I think you are right. And still, the urge to kill one's fellow being is the basest instinct of all, and it is the _brain_ doing it. The liver cannot be good or evil. It has no will. It has no morals. That is what the brain is there for, to temper, to moderate, to keep back the hand that kills. This is the brain giving in, even committing evil deeds. Do the Night-elves execute their fellow Elves?"

Ariciel sighed. "Not that I know of. Back in ancient history, when Kalimdor was still the only continent, the High-borne made a bad mistake. Thousands upon thousands died as a result. You can bet that there were voices then to kill the lot of them. In the end, they were just sent away. Not even all of them did go. I worked all my life as a house servant in one of the places where they lived. They kept their silence, stayed away. I think there were other places as well. They were forbidden from having children, though. With this new found 'mortality', that's as much as a death sentence. There's very few of them left in Kalimdor."

There wasn't far to go. After just a few hour's steady running, they reached the camp where both Horde and Alliance soldiers were on guard. A large stone structure stood in a little valley. Two stone figures stood at its side, hooded, swords resting on the ground in front of them. At the top of the portal was the head of a snake, larger than life, terribly life-like. Inside the gateway, there was a dark, swirling mass, with small lights floating through it like distant stars.

"So this is it, then?" Ariciel looked at Mareva, who was standing next to her, pulling up the straps to her pack, staff leaning against her shoulder.

"Yes. A few small steps to take a giant leap through space."

"Your home."

Mareva shook her head. "Not any more. The place where I grew up no longer exists. Nagrand does, though."

Mareva started to walk up the stairs, to the portal. Ariciel followed her.

"What are we going to find on the other side?"

"Daemons. Interesting wildlife. Humans and orcs fighting the remains of the Burning Legion. A barren wasteland like this, no doubt glowing with residual magics." Mareva grinned. "If you grow another head, do not worry. It will pass."

"Oo! Can I have a tail? I'd _love_ a tail."

Mareva laughed, "How will I keep my hands away from you if you have a cute tail?"

"Any reason you should?"

They grinned at each other. Mareva held out her hand. Ariciel took it. Together, they stepped through the Portal. 

* * *

Ellandriel sat at the helm of the small boat. Teacher was on the jib. It really wasn't too difficult when you got the hang of it. The boat bounced merrily over the small waves, heeling over starboard. The wind was in her back, the salt spray of the sea was in her hair. Her arm had healed beautifully, thanks to the Netherweave bandage. She held the helm steady by bracing it against her knee and took a big gulp of tea from the bottle. Sailing like _this_ wasn't too bad. As they sailed along the coast, the scenery had changed from the green shadows of Stranglethorn Vale to the mountains and barren sands of the Blasted Lands. They had sailed for two days, and pulled in to land for three nights. The boat had a cabin about twice the size of Ellandriel's bed back in Eldre'thalas, and two bunks. There was a store of salted meat, ship's biscuits and bottles of rum. This had apparently been the pirates' staple diet. "Which goes a long way towards explaining their inexcusable behaviour, Apprentice." Ellandriel had tipped most of the rum overboard to make room for tea which, even cold, was much better. Teacher tied off the jib sheet, and pulled out the map, comparing it with the mountains they could see.

"If I'm not mistaken, Thero'shan, we are about fifty miles away from this bend in the coast. When the coast turns East, we'll need to find a place to hide the boat. It would be a great shame to lose her."

Ellandriel gave a pull on the main sheet, and the mainsail tightened. The boat heeled a bit more over starboard, and sped up.

"It's not really our boat."

"Nonsense. She is legitimate spoils of war. Chances are those pirates got her by slitting the previous owners' throats."

"Not much different from us, then," said Ellandriel.

"Don't be absurd. You didn't ask them to assault you. If you hadn't defended yourself as well as you did..." Teacher considered. "Well, _I_ would have killed them. But I would have killed them while they were busy with you. _Much_ better this way."

Ellandriel stared ahead of the boat, searching her feelings. She had been stupid just to walk up to a bunch of pirates. The world was probably a brighter place without them in it. Still. There was blood on her hands now. None of her fellow students had ever killed anyone. The first time was always the most difficult. Ellandriel was sure she'd read that somewhere. But this had not been difficult. Disgusting. Frightening. She briefly let go of the helm to rub her arm. Painful. But not difficult. 'Them or me' had not even been a question. After Teacher had bandaged her wounded arm, she hadn't even looked at the dead Humans. And despite how they got it, she liked this boat. She liked sailing in it. Her. Boats are girls. They would find her a nice sheltered spot in an out-of-the-way place, and lift her out of the water. Maybe, sometime, she would come back this way and she could sail her again.

"It's getting dark," said Teacher. "But I think we are so close now that it's no use pulling in for the night. I'll take over the helm, and you can get some sleep."

Ellandriel shook her head. "I am fine. I would like to sail a bit further. Why don't you get some sleep? When I get tired, I'll wake you."

Teacher looked at Ellandriel for a few moments, then nodded.

"Very well. Don't lose sight of the shore."

"I won't." 

* * *

Nurse Josie Birch was working on the Blood-elf, cutting away the bandage on her leg. She dropped the spent linen into the bucket, and examined the leg with a worried look on her face. Stetson watched her work. What else was there to look at? Nurse Birch pulled on a pair of gloves, opened a jar of ointment and spoke a few words in Thalassian to the Blood-elf. Then, she started to rub the ointment onto the woman's leg. There was a sudden acid smell and the Blood-elf screwed her eyes shut. Her teeth showed, and she made small noises of pain. Nurse Birch took more ointment out of the jar, and the Blood-elf noticed Stetson looking at her. She slowly turned her face up to the ceiling, tight-lipped, shaking, and kept quiet. Only her breath gave away what she must be feeling.

Stetson turned his eyes away. When he had come in on the gryphon, he could still walk. Now, he couldn't even sit up. He was getting worse, not better, with the passing days. Matron Olisarra came by often, to see how he was doing, to take more samples of his blood, of the decaying tissue on his legs. Urine samples. Nurse Angelique Butler now had to help him relieve himself into a bottle. With some difficulty, Stetson took a deep breath. His wounds were cursed. Druids could cure poisons or curses, Shaman could cure diseases. But he had something new, something that the healing spells had not seen before. Until a cure was found, he would deteriorate. If it took too long, he would die. Nurse Birch' healing spells were good, but in the end, they only postponed the inevitable. Stetson closed his eyes. On the bedside table lay a piece of parchment and a pen. Nurse Birch had promised to post the letter for him. So far, he had written two words, nothing more. In the bed next to him, he could hear the Blood-elf's breath slowly returning to normal. He looked round at the creature. She was staring at the ceiling. She turned her head towards him, and spoke a few words. Stetson looked away without replying.

Stetson didn't like Blood-elves. They had sided with the Daemon-bothering Orcs against the Draenei of Shattrath. The blood of thousands of men, women, and children was on their delicate, well-manicured hands. They were vermin. Why the Naaru had accepted them back into Shattrath was a mystery to him. Perhaps the Naaru were incapable of feeling hatred, or of bearing grudges. Stetson was perfectly capable. He thought again of Mareva, and what to say to her. Would this letter bring his final words to her? Stetson's eyes narrowed. Not if he could help it. 

 

Stetson woke up in the middle of the night, to the sound of his own coughing. Someone had a hand under his head, and put a cup to his lips. Stetson drank greedily, then looked up.

"Thank you," he said, then stared. He looked up into the green glow of the Blood-elf's eyes. She put the cup on the side table, then put a finger to her lips.

"Ssh. _Populus_ _hic_ _volunt_ _quiescere_."

Stetson watched the woman limp back to bed. She looked back at him.

" _Salubritas_ , Draenei. _Post_ _hoc_..."

She drew a finger across her throat, then turned round and pulled up the blanket.

"Well, thank you anyway," said Stetson. 

 

Stetson lay back in his bed. The letter to Mareva lay on the bedside table. He had written it in the few minutes of blessed absence of pain following Nurse Josie Birch's healing spells, in addition to the Gift of the Naaru. 

X

>   
> Mareva,
> 
> X
> 
> I have found my brother, Garz'houn. He died defending me from a  
> large superior power of Scourge fighters. I am recovering from  
> the after-effects in a hospital named "First to your aid" in the  
> flying city of Dalaran. I will try to join you as soon as I can.
> 
> X
> 
> Yours, S'dezo'houn.

 

He had just had the time to re-read it, once. Then, the Scourge curses caught up with him and he sank back into the pillows of his bed. Matron Olisarra came by, took his blood, temperature, some samples of his skin. Stetson didn't mind. The skin on his legs was mostly numb now. he was losing the feeling in his stomach. He had stopped asking Matron Olisarra how she was doing, sparing her the effort of coming up with a convincing lie. Stetson was not recovering. He was dying. Would his last words to Mareva be a lie? Come to think of that, who exactly was he lying to? Himself? Morgan lay beside him, on the floor at the foot end of the bed. Occasionally, he stretched, and yawned. He didn't seem to be affected by the diseases that plagued Stetson at all. Angelique Butler fed him, and gave him bowls of water. Stetson had considered dismissing him, but the thought of being alone in this dismal place frightened him. Miss Butler did not seem to mind.

Next to him, the Blood-elf was not having a better time than he had. Infection had spread all over her leg, and it needed daily cleaning with aggressive acids to keep the bacteria at bay. She bore her suffering with as much stoicism as she could, but having diluted sulphuric acid rubbed over your leg is painful. When he looked at her during her treatment, her face showed determination not to show weakness in the face of the enemy. Why they had not simply amputated the leg, he could not say. He glanced at the creature. Too late now. The infection would probably spread over her whole body, and then she would die. And still, the healers had hope. Hope that they might find a cure in time. Failing that, hope that from studying their doomed patients, they might learn enough to be able to cure others in the future. Garz'houn had been right. Hope _hurt_. He closed his eyes, slept. While he was asleep, Nurse Birch picked up the letter, sadly shook her head, then put it in the post box. 

 

Stetson opened his eyes. Looking down on him was the second most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was dressed in the elaborately decorated robes of an Anchorite. In the days before he met Mareva, he would have looked at her for maybe a few minutes, then chased some of the more down-to-earth, less... less _holy_ women. Wasn't he lucky that Mareva was more beautiful than this one, _and_ lacked all restraint?

"How are you doing, Hunter?"

Stetson thought of several lewd jokes to make as a reward for such a stupid question. He didn't bother. What was the point?

"I am dying. Apart from that, I am good."

The Anchorite smiled. "My name is Yazmina. I am here on a supplies run. Matron Olisarra asked me to look at you. May I?"

"Yes," said Stetson.

Anchorite Yazmina pulled away the blanket. Stetson looked down. He was struck by how _normal_ he looked. He couldn't move his legs anymore, and the black colour over his skin had mostly disappeared. They had been normal bruises. Yazmina put her hand on his shoulder, then moved it slowly down towards his stomach.

"Tell me when you no longer feel my hand."

Stetson waited. Thankfully, the numbness started somewhere above his middle. Yazmina looked into his eyes.

"There," said Stetson. Yazmina's hand rested a few inches away from what Draenei refer to as the 'frontal tail'.

"Are you sure?" asked Yazmina, in Draenei. "Please do not fear. I am a healer. You need not be ashamed."

"I piss in a bottle held for me by the nice lady behind the counter," said Stetson, in the same language. "If she is quick enough. I have no shame left. Where your hand is, that is where the numbness starts."

Yazmina traced with her fingers the limits of Stetson's paralysis.

"Where did it start?"

Stetson pointed. "There. One of the Troll casters hit me with some kind of dark energy bolt."

"Did it hurt?"

"That is hard to say. I was already hurt at the time."

Yazmina nodded her head.

"I will try a few spells now. None of them will have a lasting effect, but tell me if it starts to hurt." She looked over her shoulder. "May I have a needle please?"

Stetson winced as Yazmina stuck the needle in his stomach. He didn't feel a thing, not even the sensation of the skin being tugged. Yazmina held her hand over Stetson's stomach, and let the magic flow. Different colours of Light danced over Stetson's skin: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

"Ow!"

Yazmina smiled, pulled the needle out, directed a little healing magic to the wound and ran her fingers over Stetson's stomach.

"Do you feel that?"

Stetson's heart leapt inside his chest. For one fleeting moment, he loved Anchorite Yazmina with all his heart.

"Yes."

The feeling of Yazmina's fingers on his stomach faded away again, until she might as well have been stroking her own skin.

"No."

"Do not worry. We know now what we are dealing with." Yazmina turned to Matron Olisarra. "We have a curse here that attacks the anthropomorphic memory itself. That is why ordinary countercurses do not work."

"I tested for that," said Olisarra. "The test came out negative for auto-anthropomorphic deficiencies."

"It would. This is a harmonic in the Draenei anthropomorphic field that does not normally come into play. Whoever designed that curse must have a particular dislike for us."

"So what is the next step?" said Olisarra.

Anchorite Yazmina stood up. "We design a new _draiocht_ to take into account the extra harmonics. We tell all of our healers about it." Yazmina's eyes narrowed, and a strange smile was on her face. "And then, we kill this curse _dead_." 


	12. That which does not heal me, makes me weaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariciel and mareva have arrived in Outland, with Ellandriel and her Teacher hot on their heels. Stetson appears to be on the mend, unlike his new-found Blood-elf fellow patient. Of course, there are things you can do in Outland that you can’t do anywhere else… yet.

"Look at what they did."

Ariciel looked at Mareva standing next to her. Her head was bowed down, her shoulders drawn, and her tail hung down limply between her legs. Large tears were on her cheeks.

"Just look at what they did."

Ariciel pulled Mareva to her, pulled her blue cheek to her shoulder, and gently stroked her hair. She looked. They were standing on an island, floating in a sea of... of _nothing_. Far in the distance, Ariciel could see pieces of rock floating in mid-air, slowly drifting, spiralling round each other on their way to nowhere. It was light, but still the sky was dark, and immense ribbons of coloured lights shimmered, from one end of the sky to the other. Large moons floated so close that Ariciel could see mountains and deep trenches on them.

"The road before us. The Orcs call it the Path of Glory. Do you know what it is paved with?" Mareva's breath shivered. "Us. The bones of my grand-parents are probably there. Nobody knows. There is so much death in this place. So much suffering."

Ariciel's hand gently stroked Mareva's back.

"I should not let this affect me like this," said Mareva. "I have been here before with Stetson."

Ariciel closed her eyes and held Mareva a little tighter.

"This is not our home. It was merely a place to hide for a while. A place to pitch some tents, prior to moving on."

Mareva looked up, her pale blue eyes reflecting huge distances.

"But it was a beautiful place. When I was young, I could simply sit, listen to the voice of a stream, for hours. I did not know about the Spirit of Water then. And still, I could feel it as it flowed, changed to fill every space."

Ariciel wanted to say something, but what, really, was there to say? With her fingers, she brushed Mareva's cheeks. Mareva sniffed in a most indelicate way.

"Can we get out of this place quickly? I promise, I will be better once we reach Terokkar Forest."

"Sure we can," said Ariciel.

Mareva hugged Ariciel one more time, then looked at her and frowned, remembering something.

"Did Trainer Bearwalker not teach you a spell that you should try once you got here?"

"So he did. Felt like another animal shape. Let me try. Just stand back in case it's something big."

 

 

Ariciel turned back to her Elf shape, looking at her fingers. Oh my. Oh _my_! Mareva gave her a look.

"This goes against our policy to avoid riding. We agreed on that to avoid making the journey too easy."

"But we didn't say we wouldn't use our travel forms, did we? We've been using cheetah form and ghost wolf form. Just to get through the boring bits."

"This is different. It is much faster, for one thing."

"Well, can't help that, and it's _useful_. I can scout ahead and warn you of any Orcs that are waiting for us. I can be your eyes. If we're lost, I can just change and find our way back."

"I can use my Far Sight, much to the same effect."

"Oh _Mareva_!" Ariciel grabbed Mareva's hands and looked into her eyes, overflowing with excitement. "Bearwalker taught me this just for when we got to Outland! I can't use it anywhere else! You can't ask me _not_ to use it!"

Mareva looked at Ariciel, trying to maintain her look of stern disapproval. From the start, she knew it was futile. When Ariciel was happy with something, it was impossible not to be happy for her. Mareva grinned at her friend.

"Very well then. But when we get to Honour Hold, I am getting a gryphon."

"I love you forever! I'll find you the _best_ paths in the whole world!"

Ariciel pulled Mareva to her in a fierce bear hug, then turned round, took a good run-up and leapt into the air. There was a small noise of displaced air, as Ariciel's body changed shape, instantly turning into a large, black-feathered bird. Mareva watched her friend flap her wings, quickly gaining altitude, then loop round with a very loud screech that plainly said: 'Look at _me_!'

 

 

The wind was in her face. The whole blasted landscape of the Hellfire Peninsula lay beneath her, and she could go wherever she wanted. Higher and higher Ariciel flew, wings beating tirelessly. How high could she go? Above the mountain peaks? Above the clouds? She looked at the strange skies, and felt she could fly to the _moon_ if she wanted. For a moment, she held her wings steady, and with a tiny flick of her tail turned back to where she could see Mareva riding along on her elekk. Higher. Higher! _Higher_!

The thought struck her as she flew, drunk with the excitement of flying, _flying_ as a bird. Freedom! She looked down. The ground was far, far away. She knew already that she could cast this spell on the move. She concentrated, and a moment later, a Night-elf woman hung in the air, supported by absolutely nothing. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the ground rushed towards her. How fast could she go? She held her hands forward, turning her fall into a dive. With a wild grin on her face, down she sped. The wind rushed in her ears. Her hair flapped madly in her face. She took a deep breath, plunging down faster and faster.

Ariciel _screamed!_

 

 

Ariciel flew towards Mareva. She dived down, soared past Mareva and climbed again. She flew to a large boulder, perched on it until Mareva came riding up on her elekk, then hopped down onto the ground. She changed back to her Elf form and waved. Mareva waved back, and rode on. Ariciel took out the reins and summoned her riding cat. She caught up a few moments later.

"So," said Mareva, "This bird form. You are enjoying it, no?"

"Better than _sex_ ," said Ariciel, face shining.

"I beg your pardon?"

Ariciel laughed. "Except with you, of course. Or Bannog."

"Good. I was worried for a moment."

"Really?"

"No," said Mareva.

"I thought so." Ariciel sighed. "Really, Mareva, I wish you could fly like this. It's... it's... incredible."

"Is there anything ahead that I should be aware of?"

Ariciel shook her head. "Clear all the way to the crossroads. We go left there, yes?"

"Correct," said Mareva. "We do not go right."

"Right," said Ariciel. "When we get to the crossroads, I'll..."

"Fly out and scout ahead," said Mareva, with a straight face. "I am sorry that you have to do all the scouting."

"I'll try to bear it without complaining," said Ariciel.

* * *

 

They were on foot again. The ground was sandy, with rocks. They had left the boat high and dry between some large boulders, covers on, mast down. Ellandriel had insisted. It had taken only an hour or so, and it would have been a waste simply to abandon it to the elements. In the distance, they could see the walls of Nethergarde Keep. From there, a road led to the Dark Portal. Nethergarde Keep was built after the end of the Second War, to keep watch over the Portal. Ellandriel had read that one of the most notorious criminals of Stormwind, Edwin van Cleef, had been responsible for its design and construction, which tells you a lot about Humans. As they entered the gates, Ellandriel looked round, and felt a lack of welcome here. The mages and fighters of Nethergarde Keep did not like visitors. They stayed only a short while, to eat a quick meal and buy some trail rations. Then, they left the keep by the West entrance, and walked along the road. Teacher's eyes were gleaming.

"Will you look at the state of this place? I daresay before all this portal business, it used to be a jungle here like Stranglethorn. Imagine the sheer _power_ you'd need to do that. And it's only a side effect, Apprentice. The main force of the spells went into opening this portal. Amazing! Where did they find all that power?"

"The Portal was created by the wizard Medivh," said Ellandriel. "His mind was possessed by the fallen Titan-lord Sargeras, and he was aided by the warlocks of the Shadow Council, most notably one named Gul'dan." She looked at Teacher. "That amounts to quite a number of powerful sorcerors."

"True, but even a thousand sorcerors would not have enough mana between them for such a feat. The distance between the Orcs' home world and Azeroth is beyond imagination. Even _finding_ Azeroth between the myriad worlds in the Universe is nigh impossible."

"And yet, they did," said Ellandriel. "We must be the unluckiest world of all."

"Perhaps not," said Teacher. "There could be worse out there than Orcs."

 

 

The road ended between two hills. Before them lay the camp where soldiers, wizards and paladins stood guard over the entrance to Azeroth. Two Night-elves hardly even drew their attention. Ellandriel and teacher walked forward, climbed the few steps up, and stood in front of the swirling hole into nothing.

"Incredible."

Ellandriel said nothing. The portal magic made the tiniest of sounds, like the grinding of air, tiny grains of sand being carried on the wind. She had expected simply to see the other side, to look on the strange world of the Orcs. Instead, she saw swirls of colours, stars? Who knew? Teacher reached out, pushed a hand through.

"My hand is now further away from my body than all the miles we have travelled together, Thero'shan. Further away than _everybody_ has travelled, all their paths laid end to end." Teacher looked at Ellandriel. "Are you ready?"

"We're going _through_?"

"How can we not? Two steps away from another _world_? Have you any sense of adventure at all?"

Ellandriel looked again at the Portal. Of course, it went two ways. She could always take a step back. But she knew that once she walked into that whirlpool, there would be no going back until she knew all there was to know about what lay beyond. She turned her head round to Teacher, nodded and took the two steps forward.

 

 

As Ellandriel and her teacher emerged from the portal, a bleak land lay before them. As far as the eye could see, nothing grew. There was only fine sand and rocks. The portal here was surrounded by a few stone buildings in the style of the Humans, and a large stairway led down to the lands ahead. Ellandriel looked up at the sky, and like everybody before her, was struck by the eerie beauty of the celestial fireworks in green and purple, stretched out across the sky. Impossibly large moons were in it. It was hard to say whether it was day or night, or whether this place even knew such a thing.

"This is not a normal world," said Teacher.

"Would it be?"

"What I mean, is that this world is broken. Azeroth floats in space, near her Sun. This place almost looks like it floats in a lake. The moons are too close. If this were a normal world, they would fall down to it. This is a place of magic, Thero'shan. It is a place of magic gone terribly wrong. Someone once told me he was incredibly intelligent and as a consequence, his mistakes were bigger than anyone else's. I see his point now."

"Is it safe here?"

"Apart from the unreal physics, there are probably Daemons. Local wildlife is likely to be deadly. Orcs who did not cross the Portal must still be at large in the area, looking for blood. This place has fissures leading to the very Twisting Nethers, and if you were to fall into one, you would die of hunger and thirst, or lack of air, before you would hit the bottom, if indeed there is any bottom." Teacher smirked. "Other than that, it's perfectly safe."

"Can we go back to the Athenaeum now, Teacher? I remember I have an assignment due in tomorrow."

"I'll write you an excuse note," said Teacher. "Look. There's a Human guard. Let's see if he knows an inn here."

 

 

The inn, as the guard said, was about fifty miles away, in a place called Honor Hold. There was a road leading there from the Portal, and the only important direction was to turn left, _not_ right or straight on, at the next crossroads. Running in this place felt strange. They were definitely lighter on their feet than on Azeroth. They could jump higher. On the other hand, they would fall down slightly quicker than they did back home, which was against all physics that Ellandriel, and even Teacher, had ever learnt.

"This, Thero'shan, is what happens when the High and the Mighty don't know what they are doing. The worst thing you can do at the moment is set something on fire that you shouldn't have. Look at what _they_ did."

"I don't want to use magics like this, Shan'do. I only want..."

Ellandriel fell silent. What _did_ she want? She looked at Teacher. Teacher looked back at her with an annoyingly wise little smile. The question kept nagging at her. What, little girl, in all of these worlds, do you want? The answer was there, hidden deep. Ellandriel looked ahead of her, at the barren road, the dry and fouled wasteland. Her voice was less than a whisper. Too quiet for anyone, even herself, to hear. But now that she had said it, she knew. She wanted to go home, and she had no home to go to. She looked ahead, and the road in front of her became clear again. Her steps quickened. Wherever home was, it wasn't here. Best get moving.

 

 

They had been running at a brisk pace for an hour or so when Teacher suddenly stopped, pushed a shoulder into Ellandriel and bumped her into a dry ditch next to the road. Ellandriel grunted as she landed on her shoulder.

"Shan'do? Wh-"

"Quiet." Teacher glared at her, then pointed, first ahead, then behind them.

Ellandriel looked. Ah. Several very large individuals were walking across the road. Her breath stuck in her throat. There were both male and female, _definitely_ female figures. The women had six arms, two holding large swords. The men were armed with swords, or axes. Some of them had creatures following them that Ellandriel classed as 'dogs', but only by the fact that they were, in fact, following them.

Teacher whispered in Ellandriel's ear. "The males are called Fel Guards. The females are called... many things. They are of Shivarra kind. Congratulations, Thero'shan. You have just met your first Daemons."

"What do we do, Shan'do?"

"We wait for them to pass, and pray to Elune that they do not see us. There are too many of them for comfort."

Ellandriel gave Teacher a look. "I take it, Shan'do, that this is one of those situations where my firepower is more than ornamental?"

"You are correct. If it comes to blows, I will do my best to stall and freeze them. You provide the killing blows. Also, running away may be shameful, my Student, but has the distinct advantage of being alive to feel the shame."

The group of Daemons, herded by the six-armed women, walked into the distance without a word, without a noise. Teacher grinned.

"I am thinking about six-fold hugs. I am a very bad person."

Ellandriel put a hand on Teacher's shoulder, then pointed behind them. Stragglers. One male, one female. Headed unfailingly into the direction of their hiding place. Ellandriel made to crawl away, but Teacher stopped her.

"Useless. They are attracted to motion. And they are not blind either. If they keep going like that, they'll spot us." Teacher tapped a finger on the rocky ground a few times, then looked round. "We fight, Thero'shan. I will slow them down with frost bolts. You find your best firebolts. Shield yourself against shadow damage, and target the Fel Guard _first_. The Shivarra can heal itself, and will need both of us focusing. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Ellandriel. Her stomach tightened.

"Good. Shield up. Here we go."

Without another word, Teacher stood up, reached out, and fired. A tight cloud of ice appeared above the Daemons and started to rain down on them.

"Fire! Hit the Felguard!"

Ellandriel concentrated. Bolts of fire started to fly, and smashed into the enormous sword fighter. Behind him, the Daemon-woman screamed, and stopped moving, frozen in place for now.

"Excellent," said Teacher. "Hit the Felguard. Everything you have."

Though both Teacher and Ellandriel now poured their fire into the Felguard, it kept advancing. Teacher's frost spells were slowing it down, but it was clear they would need every shot they could fire. It bellowed as it came closer and closer, body burnt by frost and ice, but still advancing.

"Shan'do!" Ellandriel was giving it her all, but the Daemon would reach her. Already, it lifted its sword to cut her in two.

Teacher screamed, and ran. Ellandriel's eyes opened wide. The Felguard paused mid-swing, then turned towards Teacher's back and pursued.

" _Hit_ _it_!"

The big sword came round. Just before it would hit Teacher, it hit an invisible barrier, and small forks of lightning flared up. Ellandriel concentrated, pushed her mind to where it needed to go, and let fly her deadly missiles, hitting the Felguard in the back. The Daemon seemed to crumple up, and fell to the ground.

In the distance, the Daemon-woman had broken free of her ice bonds, and was advancing towards them, two of her hands glowing with dark magic. A bolt shot towards Ellandriel, and hit her in the middle of her chest. The pain hit her immediately, and took her breath so that she could not even scream. Then, Teacher's fire hit the Daemon. She screamed, and raised swords.

"Fire, fire, fire!"

Ellandriel bit down, raised her staff and fired. She and Teacher both concentrated their fire on the Daemon's midsection. She briefly glanced at her face, which showed an expression of pure anger, hatred, and... fear. Wounds showed up on her body, burns from Ellandriel's firebolts and arrows, black patches where Teacher's frost and arcane spells hit her. Then, her legs gave, and she went down to hands and knees. Ellandriel saw that her back was scorched. Her firebolts had burnt the Daemon through and through. She looked up at them one final time, tried to raise an arm to shoot at them, then collapsed face first into the sand.

They walked up to the Daemon, slowly, carefully, ten yards apart. As they approached, they could hear the sound of laboured breathing. Small clouds of sand were blowing away from her face.

Teacher's voice was strained. "Finish it off. I'm out of mana."

Ellandriel breathed in, slowly, gathering up her powers. She stepped over to where she could not see the demon's face. She wound up her biggest fire spell, then smashed it into the Daemon-woman's back. All the arms and legs tensed up, then relaxed. Ellandriel closed her eyes.

"Well done, Thero'shan. Have some of this."

Teacher handed her a bottle filled with a clear liquid. Ellandriel drank, and felt her magical reserves refill themselves. Teacher's hand was on her shoulder.

"I genuinely could not have done this without you, Ellandriel. You did very well."

Ellandriel looked at the corpse of the Daemon-woman.

"She's beautiful. And we killed her."

"No, Ellandriel. This creature would have torn us both limb from limb, slowly and alive, if it could have. They are Daemons of the Burning Legion. They enjoy nothing except the suffering of lesser creatures. And we have just proven that we do not fall into that category." Teacher looked round. "Let's keep moving before any more show up."

* * *

 

Stetson sat up in bed, and grabbed another slice of the flat bread that they served here. These last few days, he had been eating like an elekk. His strength had not yet returned, but the curse had gone. Matron Olisarra had had a long technical discussion with Anchorite Yazmina, then held her hands over him and let her magic flow. Stetson had felt like a fountain of water had run over him, through him. He ran a hand down his stomach, down his legs, and could feel _everything_. Soon, he would be able to leave this hospital and go to find Mareva. She would probably be somewhere in Shattrath by now.

Next to him, the Blood-elf was not doing so well. As had been expected, the infection had spread. She still received the daily treatments with antiseptics. They were giving her medicine for the pain now, which was not a good sign. The more pain, the more medicine, but too much medicine would kill you, and there was a point where you cared more about ending the pain, than you did for continuing to breathe. On her way out then. Stetson didn't know why it made him sad, but it did. He glanced over. Nurse Birch and Miss Butler were spunging her down with the medicine that hurt like fire, and didn't work well enough. The Blood-elf lay back in a medicine-induced stupor, only making small noises. The ugly red stain now covered her whole leg and half of her body. What this Elf needed was either a miracle, or a short, sharp blow to the back of the neck. Stetson looked away. Neither of those were his to give.

 

 

"Why do you keep tormenting her? It is clearly not working. She is dying, and not enjoying the ride."

Nurse Birch gave Stetson a look. "Would you have liked us to apply the same logic to you? _You_ were dying."

"I was not in much pain. I was simply fading away. She is being burnt alive. Why not save her the agony?"

"Would _you_ kill her, then?"

"You should ask that question of someone with a desire for living Blood-elves."

Nurse Birch looked over to her. She was asleep, on the verge of waking up.

"She has something we haven't seen before. We know it's Scourge-related. We've sent samples as far as Shattrath, Stormwind Cathedral, even to the apothecaries in Under-city. They are all working to find out what this is and destroy it. Like with the curse you had. We're not clinging to idle hope. Any moment, Matron Olisarra or one of her colleagues can come up with something. When they do, we need her alive to test if it works. And if it does... she gets to go home."

 

 

The Blood-elf woman was awake, and in pain. With Stetson lying next to her, she tried her best not to show it, but her face was pale. Stetson found himself grudgingly admiring her grit. They hadn't spoken again, but then again, what would have been the point? Miss Angelique Butler looked at her watch, walked to the cupboard and poured a careful measure of potion into a glass. She brought it to the Blood-elf, put the glass to her lips, and watched her drink it. Miss Butler put a hand on her forehead, smiled and walked away. Stetson sighed, turned over. The intervals between the glasses of potion were growing shorter and shorter, and he could see that it was starting to affect the woman. Her expression had turned more and more vacant. She had stopped reading books. She simply lay back, crying softly when she thought Stetson couldn't hear her. Stetson took a deep breath, tried to go to sleep, when behind him, he heard the noise of liquid dripping to the ground. He looked round in the dark. There was the sound of movement. The Elf woman was sitting up, quietly whimpering with the pain. Then, she got to her feet, breathing fast. Leaning on the raised foot end of the bed, she gathered her strength, then walked to the door, slowly, painfully.

Stetson raised his head, watched the door close behind her. Where was she going? Stupid question. All of her needs were taken care of here, except one. Stetson sat up.

"Oh _damn_."

Calling out to Morgan, Stetson got up on his hooves, and ran to the door. His legs nearly gave way, indicating just how bad an idea this was. Stetson didn't care. Taking it a little more carefully, he moved to where he'd last seen the Elf. He closed his eyes, and cast his tracking spell. Luckily, it was night. The specks of Light that were the inhabitants of Dalaran were all dim, fast asleep. Only one near him burnt, flickered brightly.

"Got you. Now where are you going, you stupid woman?"

He followed as quick as she could. With her wounded leg, she could not move fast, and he gained on her, until he found himself on a small lawn. Stetson looked round, then saw the entrance to the sewers.

"So _that_ is where you are going. Do you not realise? Sewers are most unhygienic places. The last thing you need is _more_ bacteria."

Stetson plunged down into the pipe, on the trail of his fellow patient. She was somewhere to his right. As he went along, he noticed a light in front of him. He blinked. Who in all the worlds would set up an _inn_ in a _sewer_? Shaking his head, he looked round where the Elf might have gone. A little way off, he saw another tunnel leading down. He sneered at the people in the bar. Surely, a Blood-elf limping round wearing nothing but a hospital gown that exposed most of her bottom, might have turned a few faces? He shook his head, and followed the Elf into the tunnel.

He found her at the very end of the tunnel. The wind was blowing, and her gown flapped round her legs. He stepped forward, splashing in the little trickle of water that ran down the pipe.

"Hey you!"

The Elf turned round, saw him. She bared her teeth in a growl.

" _Abi sis, belua!_ "

"Yes, yes. What are you doing here?"

The Elf turned to face him, crouched down.

" _Lascia me!_ "

Stetson wrinkled his nose. "It's filthy down here. You might catch something."

" _Nihil spurcius est te!_ "

Stetson calmly stepped towards the Elf, making no sudden moves. Clearly the creature expected him to push her over the edge. Why? She was going to jump anyway. And that was where it pinched. She'd been happy, relieved, to end it all. But she would be damned if she'd let some blue-skinned bastard kill her. She stepped backwards as he advanced, until her bare foot was on the very edge. As though a switch had been thrown, her face became placid. She stood up straight, raised her arms, then let herself fall backwards.

Stetson leapt forward, grabbed the stupid hospital gown she was wearing, and pulled her back. She fell to her knees with a cry of pain. She screamed at Stetson.

" _Lascia me!_ "

She stood up, hit Stetson with a good hard blow to the stomach. Stetson tensed up just in time, grabbed her wrist.

"You are not lost yet, Elf. Matron Olisarra will be most disappointed if you kill yourself just before she can find a cure. Miss Birch and Miss Butler will have kept your sorry arse alive for nothing."

The Elf recognised the names. She leaned on Stetson, looked up at him with her alien green eyes.

" _Volo mori compos mentis,_ " she whispered.

Stetson picked her up, with some difficulty.

"You're _heavy_ for such a thin woman."

The woman glared at him, as he turned round, heading back for the hospital.

" _Claudius es._ "

 

 

Nurse Josie Birch sat in a comfortable chair at the foot of the Elf's bed, reading a book about curses and their cures. An expression of mild annoyance was on her face. She was sitting there to keep the Blood-elf woman from trying to off herself again. The telling phrase "Tentamen Suicidii" had been added to her file. Miss Birch turned another page, then looked up at the door, which was slowly opening. Nurse Birch put her bookmark in the book and got to her feet.

Outside the door, a rattling breath could be heard. In the door opening stood a corpse-like creature. At some point, it must have been Human, but those days were long gone. She wore robes and a cloak, which she had pulled round her. Leather bands were crossed over her face. Giving Nurse Birch only a casual look, she slowly made her way to the Blood-elf's bed. She pulled away the blankets, and pulled away the gown as well, leaving the Blood-elf woman staring at her, wide eyed, naked. The woman extended a bony hand, held it over the injured flesh. Her staff started to glow, then her hand, then the whole of the Blood-elf's body. The green glow drew itself to the inflamed parts of her skin, glowed brighter. Then, the green light shrunk, shrunk down till nothing was left. The Undead woman hissed, nodded. With a long fingernail, she poked at the Blood-elf's skin a few times, then chuckled to herself. She turned to Nurse Birch, and her voice made one think of dust.

"Olisarra?"

Nurse Birch swallowed. "I'll take you to her."

 

 

_Latin insults for this chapter by Laura Gibbs of the University of Oklahoma. Gratias maximas tibi ago._


	13. The importance of nutrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stetson is recovering marvellously, while Mareva and Ariciel have a bit of a run-in with the local wildlife. Ellandriel and Teacher arrive in Honour Hold, and start planning for the future. And we all know what happens when you do that…

Honour Hold was a typical Human settlement: Stone walls, stone towers. Plate-wearing soldiers. Ellandriel looked at the faces of the people passing by. There was a sense of resignation that everything would end in tears, and that the people who thought it was a good idea to come here and fight should have their heads seen to, with no need to bring their bodies. And still, there was the determination that said that if it _was_ all going to end badly, it would not be because they were slacking. A curious mixture of pessimism and confidence that seemed to Ellandriel to be typically Human. Oh, and Dwarvish.

One of the first skills a traveller picks up is to find food in the wilderness. It took Ellandriel only a second or two to spot the inn. To walk in, find a free table and order lunch was the work of mere minutes for an experienced survival expert.

"Well," said Teacher. "Here we are. Gor'nuzh, or 'World' to the Orcs. Draenor to the Draenei. Outland to us. Does it look sufficiently home-like to you?"

Ellandriel tried a piece of her... pork chop. Yes. Pork it must be, because there was a very small blob of apple sauce next to it.

"Exile, sweet exile," she said.

"Well, Thero'shan, this is a warzone. There is always something educational and profitable to do in a warzone. Little jobs that the Army, for one reason or another, can't do for themselves and are more than willing to pay passing travellers for."

"What sort of little jobs, Shan'do?"

"Anything they will pay us for, Thero'shan. While we are not in any danger of running out of gold just yet, we cannot live off our reserves forever."

Ellandriel gave a small nod. Working for a living was something new and alien to a High-borne student of Arcane Magics, a child of only fifty years. But what sort of work could she do? She was a student. A writer. Study and document this place? Try to decypher the Demonic writings that must be here? It was doubtful whether anyone would give her even a copper for a treatise on the digestive system of the Hellboar that was on her plate now.

"We're going to end up fighting for a living, aren't we?"

Teacher sighed. "Most probably. I was a proper battle-mage once. Every student of the Arcane serves in the armed forces at some point. But this will be nowhere near as well organised. The Humans are competent enough for the army-style fighting. I foresee intelligence jobs. Information gathering. Perhaps a rescue mission if we're lucky."

"No job for a High-borne, Shan'do."

"High born, brought low by our own arrogance. We failed in our duties. There is a subtle but important difference between the elite, the leading class... and mere dead weight." Teacher pushed away a half-full mug of ale. "If I start drinking now, my student, I won't stop. If you're finished, let's go outside." 

 

They walked round the inn, where a commander was trying to motivate a group of tired looking soldiers. It didn't seem to be working very well, and most of them were clearly thinking of sleep more than about the ways in which this war differed from other wars. A little further on was a Dwarvish woman, who was looking after a few gryphons, rubbing their feathers with an oily towel, then brushing the hair on their hind-quarters. Teacher pointed.

"If we do well enough here, Ellandriel, we'll buy a pair of those. You haven't lived until you have flown on a gryphon."

As they stood watching the soldiers and the gryphons, there was a noise behind them, and an old Human came walking up. From his clothes, they could see he was a wizard of some sort. Wizards are notoriously subtle and quick to anger. Two small blue flags on a box next to the inn's door seemed to anger him for reasons far too subtle for them to fathom.

"A _mailbox_? Well is that not the salt on the wounds! Twenty years cut-off from the world and now a mailbox! _Wonderful_!"

As the mage stomped off into the inn, Teacher visibly brightened up. "So _that_ is what it is! Come, let me show you this, Thero'shan. It may look like a simple box, but in fact they are a marvellous piece of portal engineering. They are all interconnected, you know? And all that it takes to pick up any of your messages is a single touch of your hearthstone."

"Hearthstone? What is that?"

"You don't have one? Don't worry. All innkeepers have them. They allow flight-masters and even some machines to know who you are and where you've been. Observe."

Teacher produced a pebble with a rune on it, and touched it to the mailbox. Ellandriel felt the brief surge of magic. Then, the small door opened.

"Incredible, isn't it? It even works here, at this unimaginable distance from Kalimdor." Teacher frowned. "And I have mail! Who in all the worlds would be sending _me_ mail?"

Teacher opened the letter and read it, with eyes that slowly turned angrier and angrier.

"Daros..."

"Shan'do?"

Teacher turned to Ellandriel. "Do you remember me telling you that there were people within Eldre'thalas that are only alive because it was impractical and unlawful for me to kill them?"

"Yes, Teacher."

"Daros Moonlance is one of them. I am sure he detests me with the same intensity I hate him. And yet, he has written to me. Not only that, but he is asking me to _join_ him in Dalaran. Oh, and he has added a helpful note saying that Dalaran is no longer in Alterac, but has been moved to Northrend. Just in case I have lived with my head in a bucket for a few thousand years."

"Does it say why?"

"It does." teacher showed Ellandriel the letter, and a few small strange symbols at the bottom. "I would tell Daros Moonlance to shove his letters, and pray I don't remember he exists. Except for that name."

"Is it a name? I do not know these runes. They are not Keldorei, nor even Sindorei or Dwarvish."

"That is because they are not runes. It is a stupid cypher we used, to pass notes in class when we were children. Simpleton. Does he really think that nobody could crack it? Even our teachers could."

"What does it say?"

"It says 'Xaxas'. Look. You can see the pattern in the glyphs repeating itself for X and A."

"Fury," said Ellandriel. "Chaos. In some contexts, it can also mean 'Elemental'."

"Correct, my Student. But in quite a different context, it is a name. Can you guess?"

Ellandriel thought a moment. "Neltharion. Otherwise known as Deathwing. But Neltharion is dead. Has Lord Moonlance perhaps uncovered some remnant of Neltharion's evil?"

"He won't say. Curse him. He may be an idiot, but he's not _stupid_. It is likely that he is on to something. We have no choice, Thero'shan. Our path is no longer one of our own choosing. We will have to go and find Mr. Moonlance." Teacher sneered. "That his message reaches me just when I am as far away from Azeroth as I possibly can be is just typical of the man."

"Are we going back to the Dark Portal, Shan'do?"

"We will need some better equipment first. Luckily, there is an abandoned armoury to the South. I daresay we will be able to find some weapons there. Field trip, Apprentice."

Ellandriel gave teacher a weary look. "We're _already_ on a field trip."

"So we'll be on a field trip _within_ a field trip. Double the magic, double the fun." 

* * *

Stetson sat up in bed and watched a Blood-elf walk up and down the room with the aid of just a single crutch. Whatever the creeping horror in the night had done to her, it had worked. Like Stetson, she was steadily improving. Morgan was following behind her, looking up at her. The Blood-elf reached the wall, turned round, glared at Morgan.

" _Fugite in malam crucem, ructator!_ " She gave Stetson a look.

Stetson clapped his hands, waved her on. "Another three. Then you can rest."

The Elf made a gesture that nice ladies should not know, or at least not make, then set off again for the other end of the room. Morgan was right on her heels. He was enjoying this game. As the Elf turned round, he sat down in front of her, looking up expectantly. The Elf raised her crutch and tried to poke Morgan with it. Morgan easily dodged. The Elf stepped onto her bad leg, yelped, dropped her crutch and only managed to stop herself from falling by holding on to a table. Her teeth showed in a painful grimace. When she opened her eyes, Morgan was sitting in front of her with her crutch between his teeth. She grabbed it, and pulled. Morgan pulled back. The Elf pulled harder. So did Morgan. The Elf snorted, looked at Stetson.

"Eh, _stultissime..._ "

Stetson grinned. "Loose, Morgan."

Morgan let go. The Elf walked forward again, kicking at Morgan as she went. Morgan jumped to one side.

"Excellent," said Stetson. "When you manage to kick the tiger, Grasshopper, then you know it will be time to leave." 

 

Olisarra the Kind held her hand over Stetson's stomach, with her eyes closed. Little green and violet lights danced round her fingers, down to Stetson, then back up. She nodded.

"Well, Mr. Stetson, I believe the last traces of the Scourge curse have been erased. I will be expecting you to vacate your bed for more rewarding cases. I recommend A Hero's Welcome if you wish to stay in Dalaran."

"Thank you," said Stetson, looking up at Olisarra. There was so much more he wanted to say to her, but no words came.

Matron Olisarra smiled. "You're welcome."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Donate to the National Elf Service if you want. Thanks to you, all of our healers can now remove the curse you were put under."

Stetson bowed his head, and started to put on his clothes. He said his goodbyes to Nurse Josie Birch, and Angelique Butler. Then, his eye fell on the Elf woman. She pulled away her blankets, and got up. She was only favouring her leg a bit as she walked up to Stetson. She pressed her body into his, wrapped her arms round his neck and whispered in his ear.

" _Si te video, mortuus es,_ " she said. She pursed her lips and blew him a kiss.

"When you do see me," said Stetson, "You will be dead already." 

 

Stetson walked into the inn, hungry for something besides hospital food. Though he would personally strangle anyone who said anything against First To Your Aid, he was forced to admit that the food was optimised for nutritional value rather than flavour. He sat down at a table and waved for a barmaid. A Gnome girl walked up.

"Hi! What can I do for you, sweetie?"

"You can bring me food, little one. Whatever the cook can recommend, and a pint of what ale goes with it. As much as you can carry, perhaps more."

The barmaid, named Inzi, blew a lock of platinum blonde hair out of her eyes, and smiled at Stetson.

"I could carry _you_ to the _food_ , sweet cheeks. Never you worry. How's an emperor salmon sound, with some sweet potato bread and a pot of honey mead?"

"You would have my undying gratitude."

"Oh _wow_ ," said Inzi. "I always wanted one of those! Won't be a minute, cutie!"

The barmaid ran off to the kitchen, leaving Stetson to think of what he was going to do next. He'd thrown away the sad remains of his armour, so getting some new was first order of business. Which meant that he'd have to write to one of his mildly disreputable banking friends for extra money. Once the money arrived, he'd have to make his way to Terokkar forest, and Shattrath. Mareva was sure to show up there. While he was at it, he might as well send word to Master-at-arms Bannog to find out if his business was done. He would no doubt be eager to join Lady Ariciel, and travelling together would be easier. He pulled out a few sheets of parchment, and started to write.

Just as Stetson folded his last letter, a large platter hovered into view with a Gnome underneath. Stetson put the letters in a side pocket of his pack and pronounced his undying love for the Gnome barmaid. She laughed.

"Just remember sweetie, whatever tip I get, I have to share with the cook and the innkeeper. Enjoy!"

Stetson took a deep breath, and started on his salmon, occasionally dropping a piece for Morgan. It disappeared in record time, leaving Stetson feeling warm, rested and in the best mood he had been in for a long time. He posted his letters, booked a room in the inn, and went in search of the exit to Dalaran. The Naaru knew he needed a walk. 

* * *

Mareva slowed down her beautiful new snowy white gryphon and looked far, far ahead. The colour of the land finally changed there from reddish brown to green, and she yearned for the cool shade of the trees. There was a squawk and Ariciel flew down underneath her, rose up in front of her, kicked her tail in the air and dived down again. Try as she might, Mareva couldn't help laughing. She waved, patted her stomach, then pointed at a good spot for lunch. Ariciel dipped her wings and circled down. Mareva followed her. She was hungry, and the last time she tried to take something from her backpack in-flight, she'd almost fallen off. Ariciel had persuaded her to buy the gryphon, though she hadn't needed to try hard. Mareva was eager to leave this land behind her. The few mountain peaks that she could recognise only served to remind her. She had been in Terokkar forest before, with Stetson and a mage named Oxana, who hungered for battle slightly more than was healthy. When you are fighting for your life, you don't have much time to appreciate the scenery and Mareva hoped that with Ariciel, things would move at a more sedate pace.

They sat down at the edge of a small wood. The trees had no leaves left, only thorns. They found some wood, made a fire and brewed tea. Ariciel lay back against a rock, head tilted back, eyes closed. Mareva watched her closely. There was something about her that reminded her of cats. Mareva sipped tea, and looked round. Just a few more miles to go, and then, they would come to more pleasant places. Forests where the trees had leaves on them, and where creatures unaffected by fel magic still roamed. Mareva rummaged in her pack for food, smiling at herself. She was a city girl. Why was she longing for wolves and warpstalkers? Something of Ariciel must be rubbing off on her.

She found some dried skethyl-berries in her pack, and pulled them out. underneath, she found... My goodness. She looked at the plastic bag in her hand. It was purple, labelled in Draenei characters. "Fruits Of The Forest," the writing said. One of the most outrageous lies ever perpetrated by a food company. She had probably eaten a thousand of the things, with a side order of the _other_ flavour, labelled "Rustic stew". Mareva closed her eyes. Back, _far_ back in the past, her fiancé Viral had given her sweet, sweet Emarree like this one. Of course, he hadn't been her fiancé at the time. The fond smile on her face faded. In her mind, his face, that she would have recognised out of thousands, started to resemble someone else. Just as strong, confident, forever followed by a blue-striped cat.

"Viral," whispered Mareva.

"Oi. Are you going to eat that or stare at it?"

Mareva shook herself out of her memories. She looked at her Night-elf friend.

"I think, with Emarree, the pleasure is in the anticipation. In a hundred years, this will taste as sweet as ever it did."

She dropped the bag back into her pack and pulled out some bread and dried meat instead. Just as she reached out to hand Ariciel her lunch, there was a noise behind her, a hissing sound of scales rubbing together. Ariciel's eyes grew large, then she changed to her bear form.

Mareva was on her hooves, and whirled round, hand in the air, casting her shield spells. Behind them, a number of strange creatures had moved up. Mareva recognised them immediately: Ravagers. They walked on four insect-like legs. Long, _sharp_ spikes were scattered all over their bodies. The ravagers looked at them with fiercely glowing red eyes, and thought "Lunch!"

As Ariciel charged, Mareva planted her hooves firmly on the ground. She raised her hand, and called forth her magical totems round her. Magic flowed through her, crackled on her skin. Her fire totem flared up, and the ravagers screeched, and retreated. Mareva counted maybe a half dozen of them. No doubt they _could_ take them on, but nobody hunted ravagers because of anything they could be used for.

"Ariciel! Retreat! They taste horrible!"

Ariciel gave a short growl to show she'd heard. She was having a wonderful time swiping at and biting the ravagers, then dodging their return attacks. Mareva took a few steps forward, and called upon the Winds. Ravagers were blown back, while Ariciel bore down. Leaving her totems up for Ariciel, Mareva pulled out the reins to her white gryphon, mounted up and flew up into the sky.

"I am clear!"

Ariciel turned from her bear form to her fast, yellow spotted Cheetah form and dashed off along the path, Mareva flying above her on her gryphon, looking over her shoulder. A few hundred yards further up, they regrouped. Ariciel turned back to her Elf form.

"Are you alright?" said Mareva, looking her up and down for any injuries.

Ariciel grinned. "Oh come on. No bunch of overgrown termites is going to land a hit on me!"

"They did not get round to spitting poison," said Mareva. "My uncle Feriin was a hunter. He had one as a pet."

"Oh I can see why. They're so _cute_!"

Mareva's eyes looked miles away. "When I was a little girl, we were asked to bring something to school to show the other children." She grinned at the memory. "I still hold the record for clearing out a classroom. The fire drill people did not even come close."

Ariciel's mouth fell open at the mention of fire.

"My kettle!"

"What about your kettle?"

"It's still back there with the ravagers!"

"Oh dear," said Mareva. "And?"

"I want it back! I can't go tramping about in a forest without _tea_! That would be... _wrong_!"

Mareva put a hand on Ariciel's shoulder. "I will get you a beautiful shiny new kettle in Shattrath."

"Stuff that," said Ariciel. "I want my own kettle."

"You are actually thinking of going back, risking life and limb, for a household implement. You are mad. I tell you this because you are my friend and I love you."

"Aww. I _still_ want my kettle back. Won't be a minute. Don't worry, I'll take some precautions."

She gently pulled Mareva's hands away, closed her eyes and concentrated. As Mareva watched, Ariciel's skin began to glow with a green light, as did her own. Then, Ariciel's skin changed in colour, and grew hard and stiff. Finally, sharp thorns sprouted all over her body. Mareva imagined she could hear Ariciel's skin creak as she smiled at her.

"There. I really haven't practiced these spells enough. They do make a difference when fighting. Well, I'm off."

Ariciel turned to her Storm Crow form, and flapped off. Mareva took a deep, deep breath. Ariciel _was_ right, in that they were supposed to be training. Well then. She got on her gryphon and followed. She flew high up, while Ariciel dived down low, gliding in just a few feet above the ground. She came to the remains of their camp fire where her kettle was sitting, steaming gently. The ravagers were still around, but none of them showed any interest in the tea, evidence that they really were nothing but animals. Far below, Ariciel picked up speed, turning sharply out of the way of the ravagers, with a loud screech. Never rising above seven feet or so, she dodged and weaved, getting closer and closer to the campfire. Finally, she reached it, grabbed the handle of the kettle in one talon and flew up, scattering burning ashes all over the ravagers. With the kettle dangling from one foot, Ariciel swooped down on Mareva, then up again, towards a large rock with a flat top. She dropped the kettle, landed, and turned back to her Elf form. Mareva joined her. Ariciel picked up the kettle.

"More tea? It's still hot." 

 

It was starting to get dark as they came to the edge of Terokkar Forest. They landed, stretched their legs and breathed in the wholesome forest smell. Without even thinking of changing shape or mounting up, they walked into the cool shade of the trees, side by side. The trees grew in ways strangely familiar to Ariciel, but still somehow different, as if someone re-invented the way water flowed and leaves blew on the breeze. They walked on, each busy with her own thoughts, until they came to the abandoned wreck of a cart, sitting by the side of the road. Mareva looked up at the sky.

"This is as close to 'night' as it becomes in this place. Shall we camp here?"

"Suits me," said Ariciel. "Any ravagers here?"

Mareva shook her head. "They like the dry, hot places. Strangely, residual magic does not bother them either. What we get here is wolves." She smiled. "Dogs are really omnipresent."

"Hm. Anything else?"

"Reptiles called warpstalkers. They move very fast, like some mages do. They like blue steak as much as I do. Also, there are very large moths, but they are usually benign unless we attack them."

"Right. So keeping a watch would be a good idea."

Mareva yawned. "It would. Would you take the first watch?"

"Sure. I'll wake you at midnight." 


	14. If you strike me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stetson is finding out about the finer points of dining in the Legerdemain Lounge, being helpfully guided by his Blood-elf enemy. Ellandriel and Teacher are off to the abandoned armoury south of Honour Hold, for some extra equipment. Ariciel, having recovered her kettle from the rampaging ravagers, is making tea. What? You have to have tea!

Stetson walked out of the shop, feeling like a hundred gold. Mostly because he had just spent such a sum on armour. The money had been delivered to him by a shifty-looking Goblin, but Stetson knew that Goblins honoured their deals to the very letter once they made them. It was when you _made_ the deals with them that you had to pay attention. There was sometimes a significant difference between the deal you thought you had made and the deal you actually had. Keeping the deals simple was key to success in commerce involving Goblins.

It was about time for lunch, and he almost blindly made for 'A Hero's Welcome', when something made him change his mind and go for the Legerdemain Lounge instead. While Hero's was kept clean of anything Hordish, the Lounge was free for all. Someone had told him that Arille Azuregaze's caribou basted in mead was exquisite, so since he had already spent a fortune today, why not? It would probably be his last meal in this floating city full of cloth-wearers, because now that he had his equipment, it was time and beyond time that he found the woman he loved. He walked into the Legerdemain Lounge, Morgan behind him. The tables were small. Blood-elves lounged here and there on thin metal chairs, sipping wine and making subtle gestures with thin, delicate fingers while discussing subjects far too subtle for Stetson ever to care about. Stetson walked up to the bar. Arille Azuregaze gave him an open, friendly look and asked Stetson how he might be of service.

"The mead-basted caribou, please," said Stetson. "And a pint of ale."

Mr. Azuregaze didn't even blink. "Certainly, Sir. Where will you be sitting?"

Stetson held his breath a moment. Well of course he would want to know where to find him. A seven-foot tall Draenei man was easy to overlook in a place like this. Stetson looked round the tables for an empty one, and stopped. With a big grin, he pointed.

"I'll be at the table with that Blood-elf there." 

 

Stetson pulled back the rickety chair, poked his tail through the back and sat down. Sitting on the other side of the table was none other than Stetson's fellow patient, looking, as far as Stetson could tell, as healthy as a Blood-elf could be. He noted that she, too, was wearing a shining new set of plate armour.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Stetson.

The Blood-elf, although she was only five foot something, managed to look down on him. Stetson could not understand a word she said, though she managed to express exactly how glad she was to see him. She pointed at her empty plate.

" _Est bonum comedi iam_ ," she said.

"Grub any good in this place?"

" _Etiam bonum rusticus sicut tibis_."

"That good, eh?"

The Blood-elf looked away, clearly contemplating storming out of this place. Except that she still had a very good glass of wine. It wouldn't do to leave half-empty wine glasses all over the place. A barmaid walked up with a tall glass of ale on a tray, and a basket of small pieces of bread, a tiny cup of butter, and a knife. The Blood-elf pointed out with a few gestures that the knife was there to put the butter on the bread.

" _Est non bonum secans iugulum,_ " she said, sweetly.

Stetson picked up the basket and held it up to her. She looked at him as though he had suggested a week-long orgy involving him, her, and a variety of livestock. Stetson laughed, and ate a piece of the white bread. He fixed the woman with a stare.

"You should be glad, Elf. If we were out in the wild, you would be feeding the vultures by now."

The Elf picked up her glass, took a tiny sip of wine and put it down again.

" _Quisquam_ _vis_ , Draenei."

A stern-looking, brown-skinned woman walked up carrying a plate of food, which she put down in front of Stetson. She nodded at Stetson.

"The mead-basted caribou. Enjoy your meal, Sir."

Stetson stared at the plate. On it was some sort of construction made from potato strips. A leaf of lettuce was next to it, upon which was placed, with great skill, a slice of tomato, a few crumbs of cheese and half an olive. A hint of sauce was dripped, almost apologetically, over it. There were also three slices of meat next to it. Stetson was struck by the sadness that for those three slivers of meat, a whole caribou had laid down its life. The Blood-elf woman stared at Stetson's face, leaned back in her chair and burst out laughing. Stetson frowned at her, which only made matters worse. She leant over to him, patted his arm.

" _Bonum_ _appetitus_ , Draenei."

Stetson scowled, picked up his fork, ignored the vegetation, speared the three pieces of meat and put them in his mouth.

"Get stuffed, scarecrow," he said, with his mouth full.

The Blood-elf's eyes lit up with anger. She stood up, glaring at Stetson.

" _Tu. Ego. Eamus._ "

Stetson looked at her, slowly got to his hooves. If the dainty little tart wanted a piece of him, she could have it. 

 

Stetson and the Blood-elf walked side by side to a place where a Human sorceress taught passing mages how to do portal magic. As a sort of free sample, a purple crystal floated behind her, slowly bobbing up and down. One had only to touch it to be transported to the camp called Violet Stand, miles below. The Blood-elf jerked her head at the crystal, then touched it and disappeared. After a few moments, Stetson did the same.

He found himself on a small paved area where a reflecting bubble shield was being held up by mages. The Blood-elf stood a few steps away, looking at him. She turned round, walked away. Stetson followed her. Morgan was at his knee. They passed the shield, and kept on walking till they were out of earshot of the battle-mages. As a people, Stetson loathed Blood-elves. One of his most vivid memories was of standing on a faraway hilltop with Garz'houn, watching Shattrath burn. Orcs had been thick about it as flies on elekk dung. And the elekk dung had been _his_ _people_. Friends. Companions for a night, or for longer. Being used for the entertainment of the Orcs, then killed, tortured, burnt alive, hacked to pieces, disposed of. This was a thing that the Orcs could never have done if it weren't for the help of the Blood-elves and their subtle magics, the creeping terror that had robbed the Draenei Paladins of their connection to the very Light that was their whole life. In all of Garz'houn's life, as far as Stetson knew, that was the only time his brother's faith had been shaken. His brother, paragon of faith, had doubted the very Light itself, and never quite recovered. Stetson had not believed anything could have done that. And one of the things that could have, _had_ done that, now walked next to him, as bent on killing him as he was on killing her. What her motivations were, he didn't know, nor did he care. Blood-elves had always wanted to kill Draenei.

They came to a small clearing between some trees. Stetson stood still. The Elf gave him a quick look, then walked a few steps further and stopped. Waited, with her hand on the hilt of her sword, watching him. Morgan stood a few steps off to his left, poised to attack. Stetson's crossbow rested in the crook of his arm. He looked at the Blood-elf. Her chest piece was new, but her legplates weren't. A small gap showed between them. She had her helm on, but the visor was open. Stetson kneeled to the ground, picked up a few blades of grass, held them up and let them fall to the ground. What little wind there was, was in his back. At this short distance, Stetson could choose which of her eyes he wanted to hit. It would be over quickly, if he was any judge, but it didn't pay to be complacent. The Elf didn't look like she was defenceless. She was probably what passed for a Paladin in her part of the world, bending the Holy Light to do her bidding. Blasphemy, Garz'houn would have said. It would be foolish to assume that she was not capable of killing him. She wasn't stupid. She wouldn't be here if she was simply offering up her neck. Send Morgan in to distract her. Shot to the throat. If he severed her spine, she would be dead in seconds. Much better than slowly being devoured by bacteria. Unasked-for, the memory came back to him of her gasps of pain, as Miss Birch and Miss Butler treated her. He remembered her lying in his arms as he carried her back to the hospital, determined to keep her face straight.

"Matron Olisarra is going to be well pissed off with me when I get back," said Stetson.

At the mention of Olisarra's name, the Blood-elf started, looked up into his eyes. Then, she looked away, and slowly shook her head. She walked up to him. Stetson tensed up, though all the aggression had left the Blood-elf's bearing. She stood in front of him, looking up at him. Then, she reached up and patted his cheek.

" _E pluribus unum,_ Draenei. _E pluribus unum._ "

She pulled from her belt the reins to some kind of flying mount, summoned it, got on, and with a wave of her hand, flew away. Stetson stared after her. If he wanted to, he could still shoot her mount from under her. Oh sod it. It wasn't _his_ job to wipe all the Blood-elves off Azeroth. He wondered what Garz'houn would have made of it. Stetson walked back to the shield, wondering. Would Garz'houn have approved of him showing mercy on one of his enemies, or would he have given him grief for letting one of these aberrations of the Light get away? Stetson sighed. What did it matter? He touched the purple crystal and was whisked back to Dalaran. Garz'houn was dead. Stetson closed his eyes, bowed his large head.

Garz'houn was dead. 

* * *

Ellandriel was on the road that led down into a barren valley where the wild Felboar roamed. Pigs can live on anything, but Ellandriel could not imagine what it was in that place, unless it was unwary adventurers. Teacher pointed to the South. Ellandriel looked in the distance, at a few buildings. She tilted her head a little.

"That looks about twenty miles distant," she said, "But it looks... wrong."

"The way gravity works in this place will never cease to amaze me," said Teacher. "My current theory is that things here stay down mainly out of habit."

Ellandriel grinned. "Perhaps if we kick the habit, we could fly here."

"Do produce an essay on the subject," said Teacher. "Let's go."

They went down the path, not exactly running, but in a relaxed jog that they knew they could keep up for hours if need be. When they first set out, Ellandriel had been footsore, with aching legs every evening. She'd needed to stretch each morning before she could get going again. These days, she hardly even felt a twinge anymore. Habit. If it could keep heavy rocks attached to the ground here, then merely running along was a breeze. Ellandriel saw several of the large boars moving in the distance, their snouts to the ground, searching for the Light knew what. Their leathery, pock-marked skins seemed to be glowing like metal. They gave them a wide berth, lacking all inclination to shoot at them.

As she jumped over a small dry ditch, Ellandriel felt a strange tug, pulling her to one side. It was almost as if she was on a slope, when actually she was on a flat surface. She ended up standing with her legs apart, trying to find her balance. Teacher stood next to her, at an unusual angle to the ground, with a big grin.

"Forgive me for not warning you about this, Thero'shan, but I did not want to miss this wonderful opportunity to embarrass you."

Ellandriel carefully righted herself and tried to force her brain to accept that 'upright' here was not at a right angle to the ground.

"What opportunity have you ever missed, Honoured Teacher?"

"None! Let me tell you, I thoroughly enjoy your company." Teacher pointed at the remains of a mage tower in the distance. "Shall we see what's in there first?"

Ellandriel only nodded, and they ran towards the tower. Ellandriel suddenly stood still, pointed.

"Ghosts! I can see soldiers there."

Teacher looked where Ellandriel was pointing.

"Ah yes. Only to be expected, I suppose. They are just the echoes of things that were. They exist only in the minds of those who pick up the signs, those who are attuned to the unseelie like we are. Nothing to be alarmed by. Come on."

Ellandriel took a few steps forward, looking at the ghostly images. Strange. It was almost like one of them, a knight on a large horse, was... looking _back_ at her. It turned round, and galloped towards them.

"Shan'do? I think I _am_ alarmed by this one."

Teacher frowned. "Strange. Ghosts do not normally interact with strangers in their environment."

Ellandriel took a deep breath, raised her hand and shot a large fireball at the ghostly knight. It hit him in the chest, and the knight cried out in pain. 

"This one is interacting just fine, Shan'do."

Teacher sneered and joined Ellandriel in shooting at the knight. It took them a few shots to take him down, and he fell at their feet. Teacher kneeled down by the dead knight and prodded at the corpse.

"Wraiths. Forgive me, Thero'shan, I was wrong. These are the spiritual remains of those who fell here and yet would not die. I suggest we see if it's safer in the tower."

By the tower door stood a ghostly woman dressed in pale grey robes. She saw them, raised her hands and shot fireballs at them. Teacher sprang forward, fire shield up, and took the fireball before Ellandriel could even raise a hand. Together, they fired on the wraith, until it died. They ran into the tower, and found it empty of anything ghostly. They leaned on each other, breathing hard.

"Far be it from me to question your wisdom, Shan'do," said Ellandriel, "But I think this was a bad idea."

Teacher stood up. "Nonsense, Student. These are merely a few surprises that capricious Fate throws in our direction. A High-borne Mage does not tremble in the face of surprises."

There was a strange voice. "I am afraid I have to concur with your Student in this case, Learned One."

They looked round, to see one of the ghostly figures standing by the stairs up, sword out but pointing down. They both raised their hands, aglow with magic. The ghost shook his head.

"Don't bother. I am not going to attack you. But it was futile to come here, in search of... loot. This place has been plundered by the disrespectful many, many times. All the treasure is long gone, and only we, the Unyielding, remain. I am Commander Hogarth, at your service."

Teacher looked Commander Hogarth up and down. "I am truly sorry for our aggression. I fear we have slain two of your soldiers."

Commander Hogarth simply pointed a hand outside the door. The ghost-woman was standing there, looking out.

"We die only because we still remember what it was to die the first time. Then, we remember who we are, and the miracle repeats itself. I say 'miracle', but as you can see, not all miracles are good."

Teacher looked at Ellandriel, then back at the ghost of Commander Hogarth.

"We will leave this place, and leave you in peace. Could you tell your soldiers not to attack us?"

Commander Hogarth shook his head. "We are dead. We were Human once, but no more. Yet still we are the Unyielding. None shall pass. You must fight your way out of this place. Do not let it trouble you. We have died many times before, and will again many times after you have gone. The chance of killing you is all that we exist for."

"Wonderful," said Teacher. "Well, Thero'shan, you heard the man. Shields up, and put on your best running boots." 

 

Ellandriel was down on her knees. The ghosts had finally stopped pursuing them. Her clothes were torn, she had burns all over her back and a cut in her arm from one of the footmen's blades. Teacher had taken more hits, and was eating some conjured food.

"A futile excursion, Student. Not my first one, and likely not my last. I offer no apologies. We must take our victories and defeats with equal dignity. I have had enough of this place. We will try to go somewhere a little more civilised. Shattrath, Student, the City of Light. Do you know it? Oh, and let me take care of your arm."

Ellandriel held out her arm so Teacher could bandage it. She winced at the pain and looked away as Teacher cleaned the wound and wrapped Netherweave round it.

"Shattrath. City of Light. Built by a mystical species called the Eredar, aided by their deities called the Naaru."

Teacher tied the knot tight. "Not quite. It was built by the Draenei, who are descended from the Eredar, true, but they were not corrupted by the fel magics that the Eredar seemed to love. Also, a Naaru is not quite a god, powerful though they are. But you'll see. I daresay a few Naaru and more than a few Draenei are still left in Shattrath. We have a much better chance of obtaining some good equipment there."

"And clothes," said Ellandriel. "These robes are ruined."

"Nothing untoward is showing, Thero'shan. It promises without revealing. Move out." 

 

They ran to the west, if 'west' had any meaning in this place. While there was a road from Honour Hold to Terrokar Forest where Shattrath lay, that road was patrolled by Fel Orcs, and they had no wish to meet them. Instead, they met felboar. Ellandriel noticed several places where the pebbles were leaping up, and they stayed well away from those places. The plains seemed endless. This had the tactical advantage that they could see any foe approaching from miles away. It had, of course, the tactical disadvantage that any foe could see _them_. They ran on on aching legs, their boots sinking into the sand.

Ellandriel could never understand what happened next. How such a large... thing, could have got so close without them noticing it. The first thing they noticed was the ground shaking underneath their feet. The second thing was a horrible, deafening, metallic voice, promising death. They looked round, hands raised. Ellandriel's eyes opened wide. A monstrous creature, made of dark metal, shaking and shivering as it went, came walking towards them, its legs taking steps thirty yards long. It had undeniably seen them, and was walking towards them. Teacher grabbed Ellandriel's robe.

"Thero'shan! Snap out of it. This foe is far beyond you, and even I must pull out all the stops to conquer it. I cannot do that with you here, because I cannot trust these magics not to hit you. Here. Take this." Teacher pulled out the letter from Daros Moonlance and put it in Ellandriel's hand. "Make for Shattrath. If I can, I will meet you there if I cannot find you before. If I can't, make for Dalaran and find Daros Moonlance. Now _Go!_ "

Teacher turned round, facing the monster.

"You are still here, Thero'shan. Be somewhere else."

Ellandriel ran. Ran with a speed partly due to fear of the monster, partly due to fear of Teacher's unrestrained war-magics, partly due to simple trust and obedience. Behind her, she could hear Teacher cry out loud.

"Foul creature! You face a battle-mage of the Quel'dorei! Your wretched existence is at an end!"

The rest of Teacher's words were lost in the sound of a huge explosion, and the Fel Reaver's deadly voice.

Ellandriel ran. 

* * *

"Are you alright, sweetie?" Inzi Charmlight, the barmaid, looked up at Stetson from her height of maybe three feet.

Stetson said nothing for a while. Then, he looked from his empty pint mug to the Gnome woman.

"My brother is dead," said Stetson.

"Aww, I'm sorry. Just got the news?"

Stetson shook his head. "He died a few weeks ago. I burnt his body myself."

"That's awful."

"Can I have another pint of ale, please?"

"Sure you can," said Inzi. "Won't help in the long run, mind."

"Nobody cares about the long run."

"Fair warning friend. If you get rowdy, I'll chuck you out." 

* * *

Ellandriel was too much out of breath to keep running. Gasping for air, she saw a Night-elf size gap between a few boulders and made for it. She lay down on her back, fighting to get her breath back. The blood pumping in her ears was too loud to hear if anyone, anything was following her. As her breath returned to normal, she set her jaw. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to _happen_ to a Night-elf of noble birth. That's what soldiers and other functionaries were there for. She shut her eyes. That was one of the private jokes between her and Teacher. Rain in the Marshes? Shouldn't happen to a High-borne. Burning heat in the Shimmering Flats? Too hot for a High-borne.

With her heart still beating fast, she peered out from between the rocks. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the monstrous creature walk to the North.

"Shan'do..."

Shaking, she stepped out of her hiding place. She ran to the place where the killing machine had found them. It was not what Teacher had told her, but she could not leave her mentor, her only foothold in this hostile world, possibly wounded.

When she arrived at the scene, one look was enough. The thing that lay on the ground could only be recognised as a Night-elf by the remains of the clothes that were wrapped round it. The screech of scavenger birds was in Ellandriel's ears. A few yards away, Teacher's staff lay on the ground. Ellandriel picked it up, held it up, looked at the intricate carvings, the arcane magic flowing up and down its surface. One of the scavenger birds had landed next to Teacher's broken body. Ellandriel raised the staff, pointed her hand at the ugly bird and fired, making the scavenger explode in a whirlwind of feathers. She stepped over once again to Teacher. She could not leave like this. 

"Forgive me, Teacher."

She pointed her hands at Teacher's body. Fire flowed from them, until nothing remained of her only companion in all these lands but a heap of ash. Wind blew, and scattered it in the air. Ellandriel leaned on the staff, looked South and set off to obey her Teacher's last command. 

 

Ellandriel ran, concentrating on her running, trying with all her might not to think. She had found a road, and followed it, on the grounds that it must lead somewhere. It was getting dark. She looked up. The small sun of this place was still up. Why was it getting dark? Never mind. In the distance ahead of her, she could see shapes moving. Large. Blue-coloured. The tinge of Demonic magic touched her senses. Would these be Draenei? They were blue and descended from Daemons, but these creatures had no legs that she could see. No hooves. The book that had mentioned them, had not had any illustrations. She stayed well away from the creatures, and ran as fast as she could along the road, until they were far behind her. She tried to compose her mind enough to conjure up some water into her shaking hands. It took her a few tries. The water tasted of nothing. Ellandriel closed her eyes, reality hitting her despite her attempts to avoid it.

"Shan'do."

Tears streaked her cheeks as she set her teeth, and ran on. As she ran, here and there, trees began to appear. Leafless, thorny, looking long dead, presumably waiting for rain that would never come. Underneath it, strange creatures scurried about. Arthropods. Four legs, fangs, a chitinous body. They had a strange wallowing gait, but nonetheless seemed very quick on their feet. Their teeth did not look apt to chewing up vegetation. Ellandriel hid herself as well as she could, and gathered up her fire magic just in case she was seen after all. Hiding soon became easier as the road found its way to more dense trees. There was a canopy overhead of vicious sharp thorns. Ellandriel knew of no trees that had _only_ thorns. Thorns were a defence mechanism. She was in a place so bad that trees could only survive by producing thorns and no leaves, fruit or flower. What was the point even of trying to keep alive here? The answer was there at once. Our path is no longer of our own choosing, Thero'shan. Shattrath. Must find Shattrath.

Just as Ellandriel thought she had cleared the forest of thorns, there was a chittering noise behind her. She whirled round, Shan'do's staff aloft, hand out. Behind her stood one of the larger creatures, raising itself up as high as it could, showing its fangs. Ellandriel bared her teeth.

"I am Ellandriel of the High-borne! Die, monster!"

Fire leapt from Ellandriel's hand, at the creature's eyes. It screamed, and charged. Ellandriel blinked aside and fired again, and again. The creature's legs gave, and it fell to the ground. Still, Ellandriel kept pouring her fireballs into it. Die!

Finally, all her mana spent, the ravager reduced to a small heap of smouldering ashes, she leaned on her staff, bent down, and wept. Large, uncontrollable sobs with occasionally a word. Shan'do's name, curses. A few hundred yards ahead, she could see some sort of building. A wooden framework, covered with skins, tumble down, derelict. Perhaps there would be people there. Perhaps more enemies. Ellandriel no longer cared. She walked up to one of the huts, entered, found it empty. She curled up on the floor, not bothering even with a blanket, and fell asleep. 

* * *

Stetson sat at a table in the sewer-inn, called Cantrips and Crows. All round him, Humans, Blood-elves, Trolls, Undead went about their sordid business. Stetson didn't care. His head swam with the drink. When the Gnome in Hero's had finally stopped serving him drink, he'd dragged himself down here where nobody cared about his liver. From further on in the sewer system, the noises of battle reached him. He frowned. Wasn't fighting forbidden in this place? Curiosity took the better of him and he walked towards the noise. A bit further on, there was a large hall, with the bulk of the room being taken up by three large fighting rings. Inside, a Dwarf warrior was fighting an Undead mage, and being cheered on and shouted at by the audience. The hint of a smile appeared on Stetson's face. Now this was more like it. He looked at Morgan, who looked back up at him. Not with this much drink in him, though. He couldn't even walk straight, let alone shoot straight. Let's have a little nap first, and then let's show this filth who's boss. 

* * *

She woke up, not knowing or caring how long she had slept. Night and day didn't seem to work here like they did in Azeroth. She conjured up some food and water, ate, and set out again. Shattrath must be at the end of this road. Or perhaps not, but it would lead somewhere. Someone would be able to tell her where Shattrath was. The trees changed as she ran, becoming more green, with large leathery leaves. To her left she saw more huts like the one she'd slept in. Strange, shambling shapes walked round the huts, spears in their hands, bows on their backs. Ellandriel ran on before they could see her. There was more wildlife here. Moths flew among the trees. Huge lizards, of Basilisk kind, slid over the ground. Ellandriel even saw a wolf far in the distance, tearing at some unlucky prey animal. The road, unpaved, but flattened by many feet, wound on through the trees. Finally, she came to a fork in the road. With wide open eyes, she looked. This was a _signpost_! Who would put up a signpost in a place like this? The signpost was marked in a script Ellandriel didn't know. Would one of them be Shattrath? Ellandriel closed her eyes, counted to ten and pointed. When she opened her eyes, she found she was pointing at the lower right sign. Very well then. If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there. She turned right. 

 

She almost missed her. She was sitting between a large cart abandoned on the road, and a tall tree. A small fire was at her feet, containing... Ellandriel sniffed. A teapot. A Night-elf was calmly sitting there, brewing _tea_! Of all the things she'd expected to see here, that was the last. The Night-elf smiled at her and raised a hand.

"Ishnu-alah, traveller. My name is Ariciel. I've just made some fresh honey mint tea. Would you like some?"

"Ishnu dal-dieb," said Ellandriel. "Yes please," she added, after a few moments.

Ariciel reached behind her, and dug a mug out of her pack. While she did, she shook the figure of someone sleeping next to her.

"Wake up," she said, in Common. "We have a guest."

Ellandriel took a breath. Common. That meant that the person next Ariciel was not an Elf. The creature that stirred, sat up and looked at her was _definitely_ not an Elf. Elves did not have a blue face, neither did they have horns on their heads. A long bare blue arm emerged from the sleeping furs.

"Ishnu-alah," said the Draenei woman, with a strange accent. She continued in Common. "My name is Mareva. Long life, good health." 


	15. Friends, enemies, same difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s always wonderful to meet new friends, the thrill of finding out all about them (which Ellandriel would do her best to avoid), perhaps even finding out you have a mutual acquaintance, taking pleasure in each other’s company (which Ellandriel is entirely not onterested in thankyouverymuch). if all else fails, there’s safety in numbers, as long as you don’t go looking for trouble. Yes, indeed.
> 
> Stetson is taking it easy by comparison, making some money in the Circle of Wills.

Ellandriel ran. Her new companions set a brisk pace. Ariciel was running next to her, and the Draenei woman, Mareva, ran point. Now and then, they would switch positions. Ellandriel couldn't help staring at her tail, which kept swinging back and forth in the steady, relaxed rhythm of her steps. She tore her eyes away, and glanced at Ariciel, who was looking round. Ariciel's eyes fell on her, and she flashed Ellandriel a quick smile.

"Keeping up alright?"

She was speaking Common, either not to exclude Mareva, or because she had been living among the other peoples.

"I am, Lady," said Ellandriel. "I have had to travel on foot for several months now. I am well used to it now."

"Whoa," said Ariciel. "People get to call me 'Lady' just once. I'm not some kind of noblewoman."

"My apologies," said Ellandriel. She didn't feel like adding anything more.

"No worries," said Ariciel. "Bannog tells me I've got a bit of a chip on my shoulder about it. Grin and bear it, he says. But I'm not going to make people bow to me. For goodness' sake, two, three years ago I was polishing floors for some left-over High-borne. Wouldn't want to be like _them_."

"Where?" The question left Ellandriel's lips before she could stop herself.

"Ameth'aran," said Ariciel. "After the Fall, there was one manor still left, with a group of about two, three dozen of the ancients. They were under some sort of house arrest. They didn't go out, the Keldorei archers didn't turn them into hedgehogs. Everybody happy. And then, they messed up some big piece of magic and sent the whole of the Manor sky-high. But by that time, I'd left."

"I..." Ellandriel swallowed. "I see."

"It's strange. Just before that happened, one of the Ladies there tried to get me to study Arcane magics. Me and my sister, actually. If Mother hadn't got wind of that, and run like the wind with the both of us, then I would probably still have been there, cleaning and serving tables, when they blew up the place. So in a strange way, I owe my life to Lady Iressa."

Ellandriel choked, coughed, stumbled, then took a few deep breaths and ran on.

"Something wrong?" Ariciel looked worried.

"I put my foot wrong," said Ellandriel. She ran on, falling silent. Iressa. One of her mother's names had been Iressa. There was no saying, of course, that this would be her. It would be statistically impossible to run into someone who had known her mother, more miles away from home than there were sensible numbers for. Or was it? There weren't many of them left. There weren't many places. The questions burnt in Ellandriel's mind, but she couldn't ask them without revealing herself. Already she might have given too many hints. 

 

They ran on until it was Ellandriel's turn to run in front. Determined not to miss anything important that might want to make lunch of them, she didn't give the archway to their right much notice until Ariciel called out.

"Hey. That looks like a Night-elf building. I didn't know there were any here."

Mareva peered through the trees at a tower in the distance.

"A fair number came here in the Second War, to aid against the Burning legion. Some of them stayed. This does not look like a wholesome place, though."

Ellandriel looked. Her staff was in her hand, and her face was still and serious.

"I can sense a depressing influence or enchantment on the place. It may not be as potent as once it was, but enough of it still lingers to dampen our abilities. Let us continue."

Ariciel grinned at her. "Oh come on. I want to see what's in there. Could be some good loot in there. Or some ancient Keldorei artifacts. Or food."

"Or wild animals," said Mareva. "If we go there, I suggest we prepare for a fight."

"I was rather hoping we could..." Ellandriel swallowed. She had carefully avoided telling the others about her magical vocation, hoping to keep that a secret till they reached Shattrath, so she could say goodbye to her new companions without unpleasantness. If it came to blows, then huge fireballs might spell out 'Fire mage' in letters large enough for even casual observers to read.

"Avoid fighting," she finished.

Ariciel peered ahead. "Naah. Nothing there but Theromoths. They're big, but they're friendly. No good for food, even."

Mareva looked at Ariciel's face. "You are determined, no?"

"Oh come on. How often do you get to see a bit of home this far away from home? It'll be _educational_!"

"Miss?" Mareva looked at Ellandriel.

Ellandriel took a deep breath, then pointed her hand forward.

"Lead on. I will follow."

Ariciel bounced on the spot. "Great! If something does happen, just stay behind the bear." 

 

They walked into the thicket. Ariciel looked up and round at the buildings. They were of sturdy, well-engineered Keldorei style, but nobody had lived there for a long time, and the forest was slowly reclaiming the place with leaf and bramble and twig. Ariciel ran forward.

"Look! there's even a Moonwell here!" She dipped her hand in the water, but quickly pulled it out again. "Eww. That hasn't been cleansed in a long time. Slacking priestesses."

Mareva pointed. "Slacking Druids, you mean. Though in their present state, I think they cannot help it."

Ariciel looked where Mareva was pointing, and her hand went to her staff. On the ground lay the long-deserted skeleton of a Night-elf woman. Her Druid's robes were torn, almost taken away by insects. There was still the residue of an unhealthy green glow about the body. Ariciel had taken her staff from her back, and searched the surrounding wood for enemies. Ellandriel stood still, the syllables of her pre-combat spells revolving in her mind, waiting, eyes darting over the place.

Mareva kneeled by the dead Druid, and looked her over. All that was left of her were some bones, with occasional pieces of skin.

"I can see no obvious trauma," said Mareva. "No broken bones. No weapon marks. This woman died of some kind of disease or poison."

"Wonderful," said Ariciel. "I think I've just lost my interest in Keldorei history."

"Let us leave," said Mareva, getting up and brushing the dirt from her hands.

In a triangle formation, looking out, they started to make their way to the archway and the road, when there was a low buzzing noise in the air. When they are as large as a sheep, it doesn't take many moths to make a sizable swarm. If that swarm is heading in your direction with every appearance of purpose, the effect can be a bit unsettling to say the least.

"What's that?" said Ellandriel.

"A big friendly Theromoth," said Mareva. "And a few of its brothers."

Ellandriel stared wide-eyed at the enormous insects. "Sisters," she said. "Theromoth drones are female. The males are only kept alive when the Queen needs her eggs fertilised, after which they are expelled and die. They are too _big_ to fly! This flies in the face of power-to-weight ratio. Do we run now?"

"No we don't," said Ariciel. "Let's kill us some bugs. I'm going cat for this one. Try not to shoot me."

With a growl, Ariciel turned to her cat form, and took a flying leap towards one of the moths, claws tearing into it. Mareva cried out in her own language, and called forth her totems. She started shooting fire and lightning at the moths. Ellandriel hesitated, lips trembling. Then, her eyes narrowed. If you're going to blow your cover, you may as well do it in style.

Ellandriel raised her staff high, and cast a preparatory spell that would power up the others' magic as well as her own. Then, she picked a target, wound up a big fire spell and hurled it at the moth. She followed it up with a quick fireblast. The moth exploded, and fell out of the sky in a rain of smouldering fragments. With that, all of her thoughts, all of her fears, all her worries, disappeared from Ellandriel's mind, until nothing existed for her but her spells, her targets and her companions. Gleaming missiles flew from her hand, blossomed out, then converged on her target, and passed straight through, sending the Theromoth spiralling down. A little further away, there was another group of moths, heading for them. With a gesture of her hand, and a few whispered syllables, Ellandriel called down a pillar of flame, and the whole group was set alight, whirling round madly, then dropping to the ground one by one. She looked around, with a thousand-mile look in her eyes.

" _Les papillons de nuit ont disparus,_ " said Ellandriel. She giggled to herself.

Mareva looked round at Ellandriel, and closed her mouth. Then, she grinned.

"Oh, I _like_ you."

Ariciel spat out the leg of one of the insects, walked over in that fluid motion that cats have, and turned back to her Elf form.

"You are a Night-elf _mage_ ," she said.

"Yes."

"There _aren't_ any Night-elf mages."

"Hardly any," said Ellandriel, "But more than you realise."

Ariciel's eyes narrowed. "Except for the High-borne."

Ellandriel stuck her chin forward, and said nothing.

"What are you doing here?"

"Draenor means Exile, doesn't it? So here I am."

Mareva coughed. "Actually, it means 'Refuge'. Though these days, the association with safety is rather an inaccurate one."

"All High-borne these days are thousands of years old," said Ariciel. "Except, you can't be more than fifty by your face marks. There weren't supposed to be any High-borne children."

Ellandriel pulled her cloak round her, and gave Ariciel an icy look.

"Perhaps in all those thousands of years, we simply forgot how much we enjoyed being told what to do by the house servants."

" _Tea!_ "

They all looked round. A tall Night-elf man stood behind them. He fell to his knees, raised his hands to the heavens, and cried out again.

" _Tea!_ Why doesn't anyone ever have _tea_ with them?"

The man stepped forward, grabbed Ariciel's shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.

"You! You can make tea, can't you? They are my _people_! It's a matter of tea or death!"

"Um... They _are_ dead, aren't they?"

"No, no, _no_! There are _four_ lights, not five! _Four_!"

Ariciel blinked. "Oh. Right. I see."

"You _see_?" The man wrapped his arms round Ariciel, bowed down and put his head on her shoulder. "Thank you. Thank you, fair maiden. I was beginning to doubt myself. I thought I was going sane and the world was mad. But luckily it is the other way round. Oh a mad world is a terrible thing. _Terrible_! People running in circles, tears filling up their glasses."

Mareva sighed, and gave Ellandriel a sad look. "It is always the same thing. We only have to walk into a town and all the men go mad over her. I simply cannot take her anywhere at all."

"That is most inconvenient," said Ellandriel.

The man's head snapped round at Ellandriel. "The naming of cats is a difficult matter, young Lady. It isn't just one of your holiday games."

"It is not?"

The man changed himself into a cat before their eyes, meowed and growled in a way that suggested a very wise remark, then turned into a bear and lay down on the ground with his head on his paws, eyes closed.

Mareva nodded understandingly. "This man is clearly several components short of a circuit board. I am sure that I am speaking for all of us when I say that I wish to share his fate no more than I wish to share the fate of his fellow Druids. I suggest we leave."

At that, the bear-druid suddenly leapt up, changed back to his Elf form and stared into the sky, a wild grin on his face.

"He's _dead_! They did it! He's finally _dead_!"

Mareva looked round at him. "Against my better judgement... _who_ is dead this time?"

"The Lich King, Devil-woman! Ner'zhul! Arthas! Bolvar! They're _dead_ , all _gone_! Now, we can all have tea! Tea in _peace_! Quick! There is no time to lose!"

And with that, the mad Druid changed himself into a yellow spotted Cheetah and ran of in an Easterly direction. Ariciel waved.

"Bye-bye."

Mareva grabbed Ariciel by the neck and Ellandriel by her robes and pushed them in the direction of the gate.

"Am I the only person here with a sense of self preservation? Let us move _now_." 

* * *

Stetson looked down on his defeated opponent. It had been tougher than usual, but he'd never had any doubt. Rogues were so amusing, disappearing into the shadows with their silly tricks. With his tracking spells, he could shoot them with his eyes closed, much to their surprise. To say that prize fighting was his new passion, would be too much, but he made a decent sum of money betting on himself. He needed it, to get himself off to Shattrath again. He hadn't counted on having to replace his entire set of armour, twice. For some reason, the permanent portals he had counted on had been shut off while he was in hospital, so he would have to fly, sail, and ride his way to the Blasted Lands in the Eastern Kingdoms. Once he was back on Draenor, things would be easier.

The fights got pretty vicious. You weren't actually allowed to kill your opponents, though once you were in the rings, you would be a fool to trust that. Too many 'accidents' had happened, and several combatants had been carried away, either to 'First to your aid', or to the graveyard.

He had stopped using Morgan for these fights after the first one. Morgan was his alter ego. Part of his very soul. Morgan getting hurt was as bad as getting hurt himself. Morgan was for fights that really mattered. Instead, he now had a warpstalker. The creature showed no emotion, which suited Stetson fine.

Stetson walked over to the Goblin, and collected his stack of gold coins. He didn't even bother to count them. They would be present and correct. Goblins had very little going for them, but their religious dedication to honouring a deal to the last speck on the contract was legendary. Stetson made some mental calculations. His 'system', if you could call it that, was always to bet half his current fortune, so that he would have money left to start all over again if he lost. If he won the next three fights, he would have enough money to make his way to the Eastern Kingdoms, to the Blasted Lands. To Mareva. Stetson turned his tired eyes to the South-west. Perhaps, these fights mattered after all. 

* * *

Mareva woke up, saw that it was time to relieve Ariciel, and got out of her sleeping furs. She pulled her clothes on, then retreated discreetly for a few minutes. As she walked up to the fire, Ariciel handed her a hot mug of honey mint tea. Mareva saw her looking at the still form of Ellandriel, lying in the furs by the fire, back towards them.

"What do you think of our new friend?"

"She's a pain in the neck," said Ariciel. "Literally."

"What do you mean?"

"Arcane magic. It used to give me a headache back in Ameth'aran. Luckily, she isn't trying to put the Maelstrom in a wine glass, but it still gives me a twinge down my neck."

"I do not understand. You have fought alongside Lenna Steambender with no problems, no?"

"Yeah, but she's a Gnome. Gnomes are practically built for arcane magic. We're not. Don't know why, but Gnomes or Humans don't bother me. High-borne do."

"The High-borne? You said you used to work for them, no?"

Ariciel thought she heard something, looked, saw nothing.

"I did. Gods, I was green then. But they were the ones who decided to blow up an entire continent. And what did they learn from that?"

Mareva laughed quietly. "Quitters, they do not win. Winners, they do not quit. Idiots, they cannot win and will not quit."

"Something like that. But she. She's a few millennia too young to have been alive back then. She's not supposed to exist."

"Well, I do not grudge her her existence. She looks nice."

"She may be a Highborne, but she's still a Night-elf. We _all_ look nice. Don't tell me you fancy her."

Mareva shook her head. "She's not interested."

"How do you know that?"

"I spent a year reading from peoples' body language whether they were attracted to me. She is not. I would guess she likes boys only. Apologies for dashing your hopes."

"Me? Between the furs with a High-borne mage? She's got nice legs, don't get me wrong, but no thank you."

"Well, my sleeping furs are over there. They are the ones with no Night-elf in. Good night." 

 

Ellandriel took a slow breath, and closed her eyes. She didn't feel like arguing. On the one hand, Ariciel hadn't tried to kill her, which was good. On the other hand, she had hardly spoken three words to her all the way down here. Perfectly happy to talk _about_ her, though. Nice legs indeed. Just get them all to Shattrath, and then back to the Portal, good-bye and good riddance. Shan'do would have expected nothing less of her. Ellandriel's eyes filled with tears. She should have stayed. She should have fought, perhaps died, next to her Teacher. But then, the great evil foreseen by Daros Moonlance would destroy the whole world. Ellandriel pulled her furs up.

What did it matter? 

* * *

Ellandriel walked next to Mareva, her hood pulled over her head, painfully aware of the bits of skin she was showing through the tears in her robe. She was sure that both of them were looking at her, though neither seemed to want to take it further than looking. That Druid because she hated her guts, and that Draenei woman, presumably, because she hadn't thrown herself at her drooling. Was that some kind of Keldorei or Draenei welcoming ritual these days, like shaking someone's hand? Yes Shan'do, I _do_ remember that soldier back in Theramore. Your point being?

She looked up, startled out of her thoughts by Ariciel suddenly stopping, fist raised in the air. At a wave of Ariciel's hand, they veered off the road, into the trees. Ariciel pointed forward.

"I thought all Orcs were green."

Mareva peered forward. "The ones who did not fall to the temptation of the Burning Legion had brown skins. These ones are Fel Orcs, though. A particularly deranged variety. They are red." Mareva smiled. "Orcs. Colour-coded for your convenience."

Ellandriel shook herself. "Well, they're in our way. I count six of them. I daresay we can take them on."

"Well, aren't we the bloodthirsty ones," said Ariciel, and grinned at Ellandriel. "Mind you, nothing wrong with a bit of bloodthirst, in moderation."

"Do you wish to move round them, Lady Ariciel? There is no telling what dangers lie in this forest." Ellandriel nodded her head at the Orcs, who were sitting in the middle of the road, perhaps waiting for travellers to kill and rob. "These Orcs are known to us. I counsel that we take them on rather than the unseen adversaries."

"Suits me," said Ariciel. "You, Mareva?"

"Yes. These Fel Orcs will undoubtedly trouble others if we do not get rid of them. Do not underestimate them, though. They are soldiers, born and bred."

"Excellent. Let's prepare, then."

Ariciel closed her eyes, concentrated. A green glow started to shine from first her own body, then the others'. Her skin changed colour, hardened. Then, sharp spikes grew on her. Ellandriel raised a hand, and whispered a few words.

"Hmm," said Ariciel, her voice deeper than usual from the effects of her spells. "More mana. Just what I need for biting them."

Ariciel turned round, facing the Orcs, staff in hand. She took a deep breath.

"Try to keep them away from us," said Ellandriel. "And we'll try to shoot them down as fast as possible."

Aciciel breathed out, looking over her shoulder. "Is there anything else you feel you have to explain to me? Remind me. What form do I take for this? Cheetah or Sea-lion? I always forget."

"Bear," said Ellandriel. "Now get on with it, spells are running out."

Mareva stamped her staff on the floor. "Children! Shall we reserve our animosity for those people who want to kill us?"

"Let's," said Ariciel, and growled.

Ariciel turned to her bear form, then with a mighty roar charged at the Orcs, swiping a claw at them as she forced her way through the group. She turned round, so that the Fel Orcs were between her and the others. Mareva stepped out into the road, ran a few steps forward and called up her totems. Ellandriel stood next to her, and prepared to fire. Mareva put a hand on her arm.

"Wait. Let her move them to where she wants them first."

All the Orcs only had eyes for Ariciel, who ripped into them tooth and claw, then moved out of the way of any returning strikes.

"Fire," said Mareva.

Lightning flew from her hands, striking three of the Orcs at once. Ellandriel bared her teeth, and large bolts of fire sped towards the Orcs. They were tough. Even with the combined firepower of Mareva and Ellandriel, they took many hits before they went down.

Two of the Fel Orcs noticed the women behind them, shooting at them. They turned round and raced towards Ellandriel. Mareva blew them away with her Thunderstorm spell, but the angle was such that they weren't blown back into the group of their friends. They got to their feet, and ran back towards Mareva and Ellandriel.

Ariciel roared, and charged towards the two splitters, trailing three other Orcs who were hacking at her with axes. One of them managed to hit her hind leg, making her yowl. She limped round the group, gathering them all up in front of her again, then roared, and raised herself on her hind legs. Her bear's eyes glowed a deep crimson, and her teeth bared. With rage that knew no bounds, Ariciel attacked. She no longer made any effort to dodge, only to rip great bleeding wounds into her enemies.

"Fire, fire, _fire_ ," Mareva shouted.

She aimed a healing spell at Ariciel, while Ellandriel brought down the fire. One by one, the Fel Orcs fell to lightning, fire, tooth and claw. The last one fell, and Ariciel stood up on her hind legs, turned back to her Elf form, then screamed. There was a large tear in her leg armour, and dried-up blood was on it. She put her hand on her leg, cast a spell of healing. Then, she slowly walked towards Ellandriel.

"What the _hell_ were you doing?"

"Fighting," said Ellandriel. "What else?"

"Don't the bloody High-borne tell their clothies to keep their sodding heads down? I like my foes in front of me. If I have to chase a few because some stupid wench wants to be the centre of attention, then they are behind me. Can't dodge shit coming from behind now can I?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but isn't it _your_ job to keep them looking at you?" She sniffed. "I thought all the men could do nothing but desire you wherever you showed your face."

" _And_ women," said Ariciel. "But having great balls of fire hurled at them puts them off for some reason."

Ellandriel narrowed her eyes. "Well, _this_ woman can easily resist your charms."

"Oh get stuffed," said Ariciel. "I'm going to see if there's any more surprises waiting for us up ahead."

With that, Ariciel turned to her Storm-crow form, and flapped off along the road.

Mareva pulled back her totems with a gesture of her hand. Her pale blue eyes slowly turned from Ariciel's disappearing tail to Ellandriel. Her staff hit the ground with an angry thump.

"Are we quite finished? If this is how we treat our friends, then who needs Fel Orcs?"

" _Friends_? By the Light of Elune, your Druid can barely resist biting my head off for something I did before I was even _born_ , and _you_ were sizing me up to see if you could have your way with me."

"What? I do not understand."

"You said you were studying my body language, did you not? To see if I like girls? And you spent years doing this. Were you, perhaps, some lady of the night?"

Mareva stared at Ellandriel, mouth open. " _That_ was something completely different. Fun and games on a long boring trip."

"I am sure there is a perfectly innocent explanation, but not one I am particularly interested in hearing."

"Well, unless I have misread you completely, and you _do_ wish to get naked with me, how is any of that _your_ business?"

"In no way, shape or form is any of it my business. My business takes me to Shattrath, and then on to Dalaran. So if you do not mind, that is where I am going. _Now_."

Ellandriel turned round, and headed off down the road at a brisk pace, seething, leaving Mareva staring after her. Mareva stared at Ellandriel's disappearing form, then up into the skies where Ariciel had disappeared. She bared her fangs and growled.

"You stupid _zlotniks_! Do you think we are in a _playground_?" She sighed. "Now what am I going to do?" 

 

Ellandriel ran, not looking, not even caring where she was going. Bother Keldorei. Bother Draenei. Damn them all. She'd find Shattrath on her own. She still had a job to do, and she would be better off doing it on her own than with the 'help' of those horrible women. This road would take her... somewhere. All roads lead somewhere. Somewhere with people. She could ask them where to go next.

The next thing she knew was that someone knocked her to the ground. When she gathered herself up, she was surrounded by pale, brown-skinned faces looking at her with green glowing eyes. They were all smiling at her, but not in a nice way. She skittered backwards on her arms and legs, trailing her staff. One of the Elves pulled back an arm and hit her with a bolt of Light. Ellandriel cried out, and the Elves laughed at her. She could see they were planning a game of cat and mouse, and _she_ was the mouse. Mice did not usually win this game. Her eyes narrowed. Not _usually_. One of the Elves bent down over her, and with a big fireblast, Ellandriel set him aflame. As he rolled round on the floor, screaming, trying to put the fire out, she blinked forward. She turned round, and could think of nothing better to do than put up a Mana Shield. Shan'do would have had a few words to say about that, and, Ellandriel realised, would probably get the chance soon.

One of the Blood-elves came forward, and slashed down with a two-handed sword. It hit her magical shield, and Ellandriel felt the drain of energy as the shield took the blow. With a deep breath, she lashed out with a boulder of fire. Then, recklessly spending the energy that was keeping her alive, she cast fire spells on as many of her enemies as she could. She knew she could not kill them all, but all the hope she had left was to make them so angry that they would kill her quickly, batter her to death with angry strokes, and end a life that should never have been. Nobody wanted the High-borne anymore. With a curious lack of emotion, she felt the last of her energy leave her, and the shining barrier round her faded. One of the sword fighters stepped forward, and slashed his sword down at her. In a gesture she knew was futile, she threw up her arms. There was a sickening snap as her arm broke under the sword, and she fell down to the ground. The three remaining Blood-elves slowly walked towards her, weapons raised. Ellandriel closed her eyes. No need to see this. 

 

Mareva was sprinting as fast as she could. No need to wonder where she needed to be. The flashes of light, and the sound of explosions told her all she needed to know. As she ran, there was a screech above her, and Ariciel swooped by, climbed again. A few hundred yards further on, a group of Blood-elves were fighting Ellandriel. Three of the Blood-elves were turned to smouldering corpses by her fire magic, which was impressive. There were three left, and they looked like they were going to kill this Night-elf very thoroughly. Mareva sprinted forward until she was in range, then summoned her totems and called forth a flame shock at the Elf with the two-handed sword closest to Ellandriel. As he burst into flame, Mareva followed up with a shamanic spell called Lava Burst, a spell that burnt brightest against targets already on fire. The Blood-elf died on his feet, then fell to the ground.

Ariciel came hurtling down out of the sky. In mid-air, she changed to her Cat form, and leapt down on the Blood-elf Paladin who had been the first to hit Ellandriel. Her sharpened claws tore through plate armour, skin and bones. The Paladin fell down with Ariciel on top of her. Ariciel ripped out her throat with a ferocious bite, then held her down on the ground, glaring into her eyes as she bled to death. The last Blood-elf was trying to run away. Mareva nor Ariciel was prepared to let him. Mareva hit him with a Frost Shock, slowing him down for Ariciel to catch. It was over in seconds, and they could finally turn round to Ellandriel, who was staring at them, wide-eyed, cradling her broken arm in the other. She tried to move away from them.

"Leave me _alone_!"

Mareva shuddered, seeing the bone stick out of Ellandriel's skin.

"Oh woman. Faint. _Faint_!"

Ariciel turned back to her Elf form, and stepped towards Ellandriel.

"Let us help you."

"You're _not_ taking my arm off," shouted Ellandriel.

"We are not taking your arm off," said Mareva. "Open fracture. We will set it, then cast healing spells."

Ariciel kneeled by Ellandriel, put her arms round her. "It'll be alright. Everything'll be fine." She shot Mareva a quick look.

"Give me your hand," said Mareva.

Ariciel put her hand on Ellandriel's cheek. "Look at me. Everything will be fine. Going to be just fine."

Ellandriel looked up at Ariciel. Ariciel gently stroked her hair. Mareva pulled Ellandriel's hand. Ellandriel gasped, and her head turned round, but Ariciel pushed her face back towards her.

"Just look at me." She stroked her black hair. "Will be just fine."

"Hurts." Ellandriel 's body shook in Ariciel's arms. " _Hurts_."

"I know. You're very brave. The healing spells will come soon. Everything is going to be alright."

Mareva was satisfied with the shape of Ellandriel's arm, and put a hand on her forehead.

"Shining Ones, hear my call..."

A shining rune floated above Ellandriel's head as the Blessing of the Naaru was bestowed on her. Mareva followed up with more healing spells. Ariciel held Ellandriel in her arms, till she closed her eyes, and sighed. Her head slumped forward. Mareva got to her hooves and brushed the dirt off her knees.

"Let us get her out of here."

Ariciel nodded, and picked up Ellandriel in her arms. Ellandriel made a vague noise and her head tilted back.

"She's too thin," said Ariciel. "We'll have to feed her up a bit." 

 

Ariciel took the empty tea mug and pulled the fur over Ellandriel. Ellandriel blinked slowly and looked up.

"I thought you detested me," she said.

"I don't like High-borne very much," said Ariciel. "Doesn't mean I want _you_ to die."

"You didn't like... Lady Iressa?"

Ariciel looked into the distance. "She taught me how to steal mana from other creatures, like the Blood-elves do. If I'd actually have used that talent, then I would not be here now. My teacher would have killed me."

"What..." Ellandriel hesitated. "What did she look like?"

"Blonde, about as short as I am. Always in green and blue. Lots of silver rings on her fingers. Always looking down on people. Quiet."

Ellandriel looked away. Could be her. Could be someone else.

"Did you know her?"

"I cannot say," said Ellandriel. "The name is the same. I only remember her from when I was a young girl. She moved away."

Ariciel looked at Ellandriel's face. "Relation of yours?"

Ellandriel said nothing, briefly closed her eyes. Ariciel got up. She thought it best not to mention that when last they met, she had destroyed the wraith that had once been Lady Iressa.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we hit Shattrath."

"I'll take early watch," said Ellandriel, sleepily. "Wake me at midnight."

"Don't be stupid, woman." 


	16. A Druid, a Shaman and a Mage go into a pub...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shattrath at last! Time to get to know each other a little better… No not _that_. Stetson is doing fine in Dalaran, it seems…

Ellandriel opened her eyes, and looked round. It was bright and sunny. She could smell smoke, and more importantly, bacon frying. Mareva and Ariciel were sitting down by the campfire. Mareva was taking bits of bacon from the frying pan with two sticks, and Ariciel was sitting bare-legged by the fire, mending her leather armour. Ariciel's eyes fell on her.

"Hey look. Someone has finished her beauty sleep." Ariciel grinned. "Early."

"And just in time for second breakfast," said Mareva.

Ellandriel shook her head, not in the mood for sharp answers. She got out of the sleeping furs, and only now realised that she was wearing only her underwear. She looked round for her clothes and found them folded up under the furs. She held them up to the light. They definitely looked a bit worse for wear.

"We didn't fix them," said Ariciel. "Didn't want to mess up the enchantments. Also, we're not your servants."

Ellandriel let that slide. "I can do it myself, if someone can lend me a needle and some thread."

"My goodness," said Ariciel. "They let you do that?"

Ellandriel gave Ariciel a vague smile. "There seems to be this rumour that those of High Birth spoil their illegitimate children rotten. I assure you, our elders are far too self-centered to waste precious resources on anyone but themselves. I am quite looking forward to that, actually."

"Have some fried bacon," said Mareva. "I offer you this not out of servitude, but to encourage you to shoot at people who wish me harm."

"I will cast fire spells for food," said Ellandriel.

"I am afraid that there is no bread to go with it, but I find that can be remedied simply by adding more bacon."

Ellandriel accepted a piece of leather from Mareva, with some slices of scorching hot bacon on it. She wondered for a moment why they were being so _nice_ to her, but there was hot food before her, and she must eat it before it got cold. As she took the food, her eye fell on her arm, and she took a short breath. Her forearm was not the shape it had always been. The cut in her forearm had left a dark scar, and if you looked carefully, her arm wasn't perfectly straight. Her hand shook, and Mareva grabbed the piece of leather to hold it steady.

"I do apologise, Miss Ellandriel, but it was the best I could do. When we are in civilised places, we will visit a proper healer."

Ellandriel put the plate of bacon in her lap, and ran her fingers along her forearm. It didn't hurt, but there was a strange lump. She shuddered.

"Without you, and you, Lady Ariciel, I would be dead now."

Ariciel wet the end of a bit of runethread in her mouth, and looked at Ellandriel.

"Lady who?" said Ariciel, and started to put the thread in her needle.

"Ariciel," said Ellandriel. "My apologies."

She raised her hands, palms upwards, and conjured up a few mana cakes. She handed them out to Mareva and Ariciel. Ariciel took a small nibble of the edge.

"What are they made of?"

"The Light," said Ellandriel. "Eat them before they dissolve. They are meant to replenish a Mage's mana between jobs."

Mareva tasted a bit, went 'Hm', sliced it in two with her knife and put a few slices of bacon in. Ellandriel stared. In all the months she'd conjured up this bread, it simply hadn't occurred to her to put anything on it. She was divided between calling it blasphemy and wondering whether the combination of sweet and salty would be a good one. She tried it. Not bad. 

 

They broke camp. Ariciel and Mareva decided that enough was enough, and that they would ride the rest of the way. Ariciel summoned a cat. Mareva summoned a very large riding beast. Ellandriel had to confess, with red cheeks, that she didn't have a mount. Mareva reached down, and pulled her up behind her.

"Rise up, please," said Mareva.

"Pardon me?"

"You are sitting on my tail."

Ellandriel quickly raised herself, muttering apologies. Mareva grinned at her over her shoulder.

"You gently push it to one side. To the left if you wish to stay on top."

"What do you m-" Ellandriel swallowed the rest of her question, and her cheeks turned dark. Then, she sneered, flicked Mareva's tail to the left and sat down.

"Rrrr," said Mareva, and kicked her elekk into motion. Ellandriel put her arms round Mareva's waist, and glanced at Ariciel, who had her eyes closed and was trying not to fall off her cat laughing.

Horrible women. 

* * *

"You're turning into quite the favourite, mate," said the Goblin. He was counting out Stetson's winnings without even looking at his fingers, gold, silver, coppers. "You're becoming the safe bet. Twelve-to-one on you losing."

"Good," said Stetson.

He'd just fought another Draenei, a frost mage who'd managed to keep him and his Warpstalker from moving for an uncomfortably long time before Stetson managed to throw a freezing trap almost underneath his feet, and stick him full of arrows while he tried to get out of it.

"I'm doing you a favour giving you two-to-one, you know."

"Truly, you overflow with the milk of Goblin kindness," said Stetson.

"Don't sweat it," said the Goblin with a grin. "Odds are strange things. When you finally do lose, you're going to make me rich."

"How so?"

"Lots of people are betting on you. Practically nobody is betting on you to lose. When you finally do, I get to keep the pot." The Goblin's yellow eyes gleamed at Stetson. "And it's a _big_ pot."

"You make more money from my fights than I do," said Stetson, darkly.

"Only fair, Friend," said the Goblin. "If not for us, where would you be? Busting your blue tail running errands for everybody. Anyway, if it bothers you..." The Goblin motioned Stetson closer with a long-nailed finger. "If I had some way of _knowing_ when you were going to lose, then I could prepare myself for it. Set the odds appropriately. And then I might... _might_ be persuaded to share some of my winnings with you."

"Throw a fight, you mean? That will make several hundred people quite annoyed with me. At a time when I will already be wounded."

"Oh come on. Last time I checked you were blue, not yellow."

"Money is only any good if you are alive to spend it. That is the voice of reason."

"Sure," said the Goblin. "Here you are. Fifty gold, twenty silver." He bent over to Stetson and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Give me the right word at the right time, and you could get enough for a flying mount, and a whole _night_ alone with Miss Hira Snowdawn."

"I can see how that might be attractive, but a hot and steamy night discussing the finer points of flying is similar to a stack of money, in that one needs to be alive in order to enjoy it. Good day to you." 

* * *

"My friends," said Mareva, "That shaft of light ahead of us is made by the Naaru A'dal. We have reached Shattrath!"

Ariciel looked round nervously, but the large group of enemies somehow failed to descend on them. Outlanders clearly lacked all sense of drama. Ellandriel looked ahead, over Mareva's shoulder.

"I can see Draenei women mounted on..."

"Elekks," said Mareva. "And what is more, they are _real_ elekks, not like this magical construct." Mine disappears when I get off. These ones will fight for their masters."

"They look fierce," said Ariciel.

"They are," said Mareva. "Furthermore, they lack all sense of humour. If we are stopped, I will do the talking." 

 

As it happened, two Night-elves and a Draenei did not look like they would be assaulting the city on their own. Mareva led her elekk through the tunnel to Lower City. Several beggars walked up to them, hands outstretched. Ariciel and Mareva looked straight ahead, not meeting their eyes, but Ellandriel reached into her purse and threw them a few coins.

"Thieves and cutpurses," muttered Mareva.

"Well, they have no money, and they are begging, not stealing," said Ellandriel. "We must be kind to those less fortunate."

"Let them hunt, and sell the meat," said Mareva. "Or gather fire-wood. Every copper I ever had, I worked for."

"They are fugitives," said Ellandriel. "If they would set foot outside the city, the lands would devour them. Were you robbed of all your powers, would you not wish for a few coppers to fill your stomach?" Ellandriel looked ahead. "We cannot all conjure food and water out of thin air."

"That may be true," said Mareva, "but there is always something you can do. They are expecting the world to feed them for nothing in return."

"I don't think they even think that far," said Ellandriel. "All these paupers know is that they are hungry."

"Many people are hungry," said Mareva. "You cannot feed them all."

"That is true, but I can at least provide a few of them with a few decent meals. It warms my heart to know that some people will not go hungry because of me."

"Give a man a fish, and he will be fed for a day. Give him an electric eel, fully charged, and you will not see him again."

"That, Lady Mareva, is not a nice thing to say."

"I agree, it is not. It is a variation on an old Draenei saying. The original goes: Teach him to fish, and he will be fed for his whole life. The point is that giving alms to the poor on anything but a regular basis, is not a sustainable solution. It merely serves to make us feel better about ourselves. That man will be hungry again two days from now. If you truly wish him to be fed, do not give him alms. Employ him."

Ariciel, who rode a few steps ahead, looked over her shoulder. "Just as a question. How much did you give them?"

Ellandriel shrugged. "I did not count the coins. Three or four silver perhaps."

"Ah."

Ariciel rode on, a slight smile on her face. Ellandriel blinked, not understanding.

"Why do you ask?"

"When I was working in Ameth'Aran, I earned four silver a month." 

 

They rode though the outskirts of Lower City. Mareva fell silent, looking straight ahead of her. She spurred on her elekk, and didn't speak till they reached the bridge leading to the elevator that took travellers up to the Terrace of Light. Mareva brighened up visibly.

"Ah. There is the elevator. We ride it, then we turn left, and then we find..."

"An inn," said Ariciel.

"Yes," said Mareva. She looked over her shoulder at Ellandriel. "I am not a lush, honestly. You do not think I am a lush, do you?"

"I would not presume to say such a thing from the time I have known you, Lady Mareva."

"Good."

"When we reach the tavern, _then_ I will give you the benefit of my opinion."

They rode up the elevator, and into a large square. Mareva remembered the rows upon rows of soldiers she had seen departing from this place. No way of telling how many of them had ever returned.

Minalei's small tavern was at the edge of the square, close enough to the edge to look down on the Scryers' Tier a little way off. Minalei was an old acquaintance of Mareva's, having sailed with her on board Exodar. She grinned broadly at Mareva when they came walking in.

" _Gde tvoi bol'shoi okhotnik?_ "

"He is in Northrend, chasing Death Knights," said Mareva.

"And you need _two_ Night-elves to replace him? My goodness, I _am_ jealous."

"Yes. Most amusing," said Mareva. She continued in Common. "Allow me to introduce my friends, Ariciel and Ellandriel."

Minalei bowed her head at the Elf girls, and spoke those most welcome of words.

"What can I offer you?"

"Mead if you have it," said Ariciel. "Food, and beds for the night, please." 

 

They had eaten. They had bottles of drink nearby, and were about ready to turn in, but too restless for a while to do so. Mareva sat at the head end of the bed. Ariciel had kicked off her boots and lay across the bed with her head in Mareva's lap. Her eyes were closed. Ellandriel stood in front of a bookcase, head tilted sideways, trying to read the titles of the books. Most of them were in Draenei, which Ellandriel couldn't read. There were none at all in Darnassian, and given that the few Common titles had words in them like 'Passion', 'Scandalous', or 'Marriage', and pictures of bare-chested Humans with smouldering females embracing them on the front, she didn't think she was missing much by not knowing Draenei. She lay down on the bed one over from Mareva's, and poured herself another glass of wine. Once you open a bottle, it won't keep. She looked over. Mareva's hand was on Ariciel's stomach.

"Your search for worthwhile literature has proven fruitless?"

"I'm afraid so," said Ellandriel. "I cannot speak for the volumes in Draenei, of course."

Mareva laughed. "They are most probably a fine example of Draenei literature. From these pages, you can learn precisely what to do with a girl's tail before you ravish her."

Ellandriel took a sip of wine. "Were I inclined to ravish Draenei girls, then I would no doubt spend many an hour here. Social missteps in the bedroom must be avoided at all costs."

"Just so," said Mareva.

Ellandriel looked into Mareva's eyes. "I do apologise for my words earlier, in Terrokkar forest. I spoke in anger, and out of place."

"I have been called worse than 'Lady of the Night'," said Mareva. "Do not worry."

"You said you were on a long dull trip. Were you on a ship?"

"I was an engineer on Exodar. There was something wrong with the trans-dimensional drive and we had to travel for a year in normal space."

"Normal space? What do you mean?"

Ariciel kept her eyes shut. "She says things like that. Just smile and nod."

"Our poor Exodar had two modes of flight. One of them was by mass reaction engines. They are suitable for maneuvering inside a solar system, but we would greatly upset Prophet Ha'aakin if we broke the speed of light using them. So if we have a long distance to travel, we use the trans-dimensional engines. They shift all of Exodar into an alternate dimension, which you call the 'Twisting Nethers'. There, things like time, distance and speed become essentially meaningless."

Ariciel opened her eyes and sat up. "Now you've set her off. Is there any more mead?"

Mareva snorted. "There is, unless you have drunk it all."

"Travel between the stars," said Ellandriel. "I never even thought of the stars as being far away, before I came here. They are simply there, like the Moon."

"The moon is not that far away, comparatively speaking. My elekk could _run_ to the moon in two and a half years if it had a path to follow."

Ellandriel slowly ran her fingers over the bump in her arm. "How do you even _know_ that?"

"Triangulation. You take bearings on the object you wish to measure from two sides, and from the angles and the distance between the measured points, you can work out how far away your object is."

"But..." Ellandriel gave Mareva a thoughtful look. "These distances are so huge, that the lines must be almost parallel, even if you measure from one end of Azeroth to the other."

"That is why you do not do it like that. You take one measurement now, and one half a year later. That way, you have Azeroth's entire orbit to work with. It would still require the most precise equipment, which is sadly not invented in Azeroth yet. It works for objects up to about four-hundred light-years away."

"Do you mean to say that the Draenei can measure objects even further away?"

"We can," said Mareva. "Using a spectrometer, you can precisely measure the colour of a star's light. From that, you can work out what kind of star it is, and consequently, how bright it should shine. You then measure the brightness, and from that you can work out the distance. Space-borne spectrometers, though, are even more advanced than astrolabes. Of course, the Naaru can simply project their minds onto the object they are interested in, and know how far away it is. Which I feel is most unfair."

Ariciel looked at Ellandriel's face, which mixed the blank stare people commonly had when Mareva explained something, and a certain kind of... hunger.

"Keep going," said Ariciel. "I think you're turning her on."

Ellandriel gave Ariciel a Look, then turned back to Mareva.

"Travelling between the _stars_. I cannot imagine what that must be like."

"Once you get over the initial excitement, it is exceedingly dull. Which is why we had to make our own entertainment. Using minimal equipment."

Ellandriel looked at Mareva. Mareva looked back at her with a wicked glint in her eyes.

"Surely... There were things to do besides, um, _that_?"

"There were. There were a few dozen clubs. Our chief engineer is quite a chess player. There were mathematics clubs. The Zealots of Hut, praised be, were fun. I was in the Deviants. We were in search of the ultimate sexual pleasure."

"Um. Did you find it?" Ellandriel thought it only polite to ask.

"I earned thirteen hundred and four points," said Mareva. "None of us cared."

"In a year, that is almost... four points per _day_!"

"Including style points," said Mareva. "Being inventive helped much."

Ariciel looked at the canopy above the four poster bed, and said nothing.

Mareva sighed. "Viral and I were in the Deviants together. We used to compare notes before going to sleep. If anyone would press me on the ultimate pleasure, then waking up next to someone you love would be high on the list."

"I second that," said Ariciel. "My big lug of a Human is all I need to feel warm."

" _Human_?" Ellandriel said it before she could stop herself.

Ariciel grinned. "Warmly recommended."

"But... can they even...?"

"Oh yes. Able and willing. Try one. Be prepared for some bruises if you pick a warrior. So now you know all about us, how about you? Do the High-borne have such mundane things as love-lives?"

Ellandriel drained her glass and put it on the side table. "Light bless me, do you presume me to be a virgin? Though compared to yours, my exploits are not nearly as exotic." Her eyes softened with memories. "The strangest thing I can claim is that one of my lovers liked to lick my toes, as a way of enhancing the desire."

"Nobody has ever done that for me," said Mareva, sadly.

"It is not a great loss. I found it faintly disgusting, and it tickles in a most..." Ellandriel's eyes fell on Mareva's bare legs. "Ah."

Ariciel laughed, then bent over towards Ellandriel. "I will simply mention the word 'tail', and leave it at that."

"For that, I am most grateful to you," said Ellandriel.

Mareva poked a sharp finger into Ariciel's stomach. "Were you travelling alone? That seems dull to me, as well as dangerous."

Ellandriel's breath shivered. She shook her head. "I was travelling with my Teacher. We were attacked by a monster made of fel metal. Shan'do died defending me."

Mareva reached over and touched Ellandriel's arm. "I am very sory to hear that, Miss Ellandriel. Were the two of you close?"

"Closer than I have been with many Elves, though not lovers if that is what you mean. Shan'do's last order to me was to find my way to Shattrath City, and then on to Dalaran in Northrend. I will have to learn the way there tomorrow."

"Back through the Dark Portal, flight to Menethil, and there take the steamer to Valgarde," said Ariciel. "But... hang on. You are a mage."

"Yes. Why?"

"Can't you do portals? Most mages I know can do portals to most of the capital cities."

Ellandriel looked sadly at Ariciel. "I would not be welcome in most of them. I never learnt the skill. The Portal Masters would not let me attune myself to the markers in those cities."

"Don't be so sure. There should be a portal trainer here. Ask them. All they can do is say no."

Mareva got to her hooves. "Even if they do say no, then we can always find you a mage who can. I know at least one, though her personality is somewhat turbulent. I just remembered I have not checked my mail. I must see if my hunter friend has been successful in finding either his brother or another one of my Deviant rivals."

She sniffed, and walked out of the door. Ellandriel looked at her tail disappearing.

"I must admit, I do not quite understand the nature of your relationship."

Ariciel lay back on the bed, looking up, then glanced at Ellandriel.

"I love her," she said, simply. "I love her like a sister I never knew I had. I have lost all my blood-relatives. The Manor, and its people don't exist anymore. She and Bannog are my family now."

"Sister? I thought you were, um..."

Ariciel laughed quietly, putting her hands behind her head. "Sometimes, the day has been long, dreary and horrible, and the Light shines brightly in every place but the place where we are. So we do things that you wouldn't do with your blood-sister. We're really not in each other's arms at every opportunity, but yes. We are 'Um'. We know what the other looks and feels like naked."

Ellandriel sighed. "I was born in Eldre'thalas. My parents left soon after I was born, and I was raised with my fellow students, by the Elders. They loved us, cared for us, fed us. But they were never mine. I never consciously saw my parents. Why they left, I do not know, nor do I know if they are dead or alive." She looked at Ariciel's face. "My mother was named Lanóriel Iressa of Athalaxx. You... may have met her."

Ariciel suddenly felt like she was walking on eggs. "I knew a lady Iressa in Ameth'aran. She wanted me to become a mage and aid her with great spells. I said no. I believe she was lost in the accident that destroyed the Manor. No telling if it was her."

"Were you to describe her in minute detail, It would not help me. I never knew her."

"My mother is dead," said Ariciel. "She suffered a great deal at the hands of the Horde before she died by her own hand. Whether you are better off, or I am, I really can't say." 

 

The door opened and Mareva came walking in, a letter in her hand.

"Hunter S'dezo'houn is in hospital in Dalaran. The search for his brother has had a distinctly sub-optimal result. Miss Ellandriel, if you were thinking of travelling to Dalaran, I would be happy to join you there." She looked into Ariciel's eyes. "I do not know whether we are ready, but... I _must_ go."

"There's three of us," said Ariciel. "I'm game if you are. Besides, I'm not letting you alone with _her_."

Mareva sat down on the bed, shaking, not even rising to the bait. "Recovering from the after-effects. What sort of an idiot does he think I am?" 

* * *

In the cheap room in the Under-belly of Dalaran, Stetson counted out his money. He had enough for a fast gryphon. Almost enough for the flying lessons. Trainer Hira Snowdawn did not offer these cheaply. He could, of course, simply take the flight back to Valiance Keep, and then take the ferry back to Stormwind. But he would have to find Mareva in the wilderness of Draenor. For that, he needed flight. Stetson took a deep breath. No matter how many times he counted it, he still came up short. He made some mental calculations. Three more fights, perhaps four. If, of course, he won them all. He put the money back in the pouch on his belt, walked to the bed. He lay down with his back to the wall, and closed his eyes. 


	17. Honestly, I can explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid trio find themselves in Shattrath, and in need of quick transport to Dalaran. Now that is usually a problem with a simple solution if there is a Mage in your party. Sadly, Ellandriel can’t do portals and Mistress Iorioa won’t teach her because she might create portals to goodness-knows-where. What to do?
> 
> For Stetson, the end is in sight. Just one more fight to win, and he’ll be able to afford his flappy and the paperwork to be able to fly it. One more fight… Just one more.
> 
> Seashell, the charming and generous Human Mage, appears with the kind permission of [Bravetank](http://bravetank.wordpress.com).

It took Mareva considerable self-control to allow Ellandriel her moment with the Naaru A'Dal. She wanted to grab her by the scruff of her neck and point her in the direction of the portal trainer in the Terrace of Light. But she had been here before. She and Stetson had come to this very place, and walked into the presence of the Creature of Light. Up till then, the only Naaru Mareva had known was O'ros, the pilot, navigator of Exodar. In a sense, O'ros _was_ Exodar. Marerva had always been in awe of O'ros' incredible intelligence, being able to guide Exodar through the Twisting Nethers to within a quarter of a light-year of Azeroth. It took a spacer to realise what an achievement that was. A'dal, though, was someone different altogether. Where O'ros' business was the Cosmos, A'dal had made the study of the mortal souls his. Nobody came to him in vain, when they needed advice. Mareva looked at Ellandriel, who stood on A'dal's platform, still as a statue. She watched Ellandriel bow her head, turn away. There was a smile on her face, and tears on her cheeks. She looked up at Mareva. She drew her sleeve across her face.

"I am ready. Have you found the portal trainer?"

"I have," said Mareva. "Her name is Iorioa, and she is standing by the wall there."

Ellandriel and Mareva walked over to the portal trainer, a tall Draenei woman wearing a rich gold-and-blue dress. A staff was in her hand. Ellandriel bowed her head.

"An it please you, Mistress, I wish to learn how to create portals to Dalaran, in Northrend."

"Certainly," said Iorioa. "May I have your hearthstone, please?"

Ellandriel took her smooth, shining, new hearthstone out of her pocket. She had received it from Minalei just that morning. Mistress Iorioa's hand felt cool as she took the pebble. She frowned.

"What level are you, Miss?"

"Level, Mistress?"

"Yes. When was your latest certification?"

Ellandriel looked into Iorioa's face with a sinking feeling.

"I am... _was_ an apprentice of the Eldre'thalas school of Magecraft. We do not have the certificates you speak of."

Iorioa shook her head. "Then I am sorry to say that I cannot teach you. In order to avoid tragic accidents, we only teach portal magic to graduates of the sixtieth level of a certified teaching authority. I am afraid that Eldre'thalas is not among them." 

Mareva frowned. "I assure you, Mistress Iorioa, Miss Ellandriel has proven herself quite capable in her mage-craft. If the fact that she is a Night-elf bothers you..."

"Not in the least," said Iorioa. "I have great respect for the Night-elves and their accomplishments in their Druidic doctrines and their knowledge of the Light. But they themselves have banished mage-craft from their midst. To use it in their presence is punishable by death. Hence, there are no officially accredited lores of mage-craft, and I cannot be sure that Miss Ellandriel has the knowledge required for portal magic."

Mareva nodded. "I understand. Is there, perhaps, a kind of test she can perform to demonstrate her abilities?"

"There are," said Iorioa. "There are fifty-nine tests to perform." Iorioa gave Ellandriel's hearthstone back to her. "I am sorry I cannot help you, but I would be more sorry if you created a portal to the wrong place, with disastrous results."

Ellandriel bowed her head. "I understand, Mistress. But I must travel to Dalaran, it is of the greatest importance."

Iorioa pointed to her right. "You can use this portal, which will take you to the Human city of Stormwind. From there, you can take the ferry to Northrend. You could be in Dalaran in no more than two weeks."

"Not quick enough," said Mareva. "We need to be there tomorrow at the latest."

"Still," said Iorioa, "This is the best I can do."

Mareva muttered a few words under her breath which Ellandriel couldn't understand, and Iorioa pretended not to have heard. Then, she nodded curtly at Iorioa, turned round, and stomped off, trailing Ellandriel.

"Now where has that Druid gone?"

Ellandriel looked round, and pointed. Ariciel stood a little way off, talking to a pretty auburn-haired Human girl. Mareva frowned. Wasn't that just typical? Mareva walked over. She gave the Human girl a friendly but firm look.

"Good morning, Miss. Is my friend bothering you?"

The girl laughed. "Not in the least. We were talking about Redridge. I haven't been to Lakeshire in a month of Mondays."

"That is a great loss, Miss. Ariciel? The portal trainer refuses to teach Miss Ellandriel how to do portals."

"Oh dear," said Ariciel.

"Which means we are screwed," said Mareva. "Unless we want to go by Stormwind, and take weeks on the steamer."

"Which we don't," said Ariciel. "Which is why..."

"The stupid nactba wants Ellandriel to take fifty-nine 'simple' tests before she will even consider it."

"I don't think I could do that," said Ellandriel. "It takes years to train a mage. I am truly sorry."

"It is not your fault, Miss Ellandriel. When last I was here, there were portals here going _everywhere_! Exodar. Darnassus. Ironforge, even."

"I heard the portals in Dalaran have also been shut down for some reason or other," said the Human girl. "Very inconvenient if you're not a mage."

"Exactly. Now all we have is Stormwind, which is no use at all, no offence meant, Miss..."

"None taken," said the Human girl with a smile. "My friends call me Seashell."

"Mareva. Long life, good health." Mareva looked back at Ariciel. "In the mean time S'dezo'houn is lying in some filthy hospital, being treated for the Naaru only know what, by who knows what kind of saw-bones..." Mareva took a deep breath. "We need a portal mage, but where would we find one?"

Ariciel smiled sweetly. "Well, I am not a capital-H Hunter, but we could lurk by the portal trainer and wait till one of them shows up looking for lessons." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Bad hunters chase. Good hunters wait."

"But how long will that take? We could be here for _days_!"

"Hello," said Seashell, raising a finger. 

 

Mareva held Seashell's hand, looking into her eyes.

"Thank you, Miss. I do not know what I would have done without you. If ever you need my help, you have only to ask."

"My pleasure, and all the best to your friend. Hurry up. These portals don't stick around too long."

Mareva nodded, waved, stepped through. Ariciel and Ellandriel were waiting for her on the other side. Ellandriel had her eyes closed, and was slowly turning round on the spot.

"There are so many enchantments here. The whole world feels like it's woven out of the strands of the Light."

Ariciel looked back, watching the portal wink out of existence.

"What a nice girl." She started digging in her pack for warmer clothes. It was definitely a bit nippy here.

"She is," said Mareva. "Hunter S'dezo'houn mentioned a hospital named 'First To Your Aid'. Let us find it."

"Ask a guard," said Ariciel. 

 

"Hunter S'dezo'houn of Nagrand?" Nurse Birch gave Mareva a little disappointed look. "He's a regular here. He's been in here at least six times this month. Frankly, we're getting a bit tired of the sight of him."

Mareva slowly breathed in. Behind her, Ariciel gave Ellandriel a sidelong look, and mentally geared herself up to support Mareva in whatever way might be necessary.

"What is it that is wrong with him? Is it some kind of chronic disease?"

Nurse Birch shook her head. "A clear case of transubstantiation of the brain."

Mareva stared blankly. "Transubstantiation."

"Yes. We don't agree what. Miss Butler thinks sawdust. I am more in favour of excreta. Matron Olisarra the Kind thinks hard vacuum. One of these days, we will know for sure, when someone finally cracks open that thick skull of his."

"Nurse Birch. What is going on, please?"

The corner of Josie Birch' mouth dropped ever so slightly. "He spends his evenings in the Circle of Wills."

"Pardon me," said Mareva. "This is my first time in Dalaran. What is the Circle of Wills?"

"It is where prize fighters fight for prizes," said nurse Birch. "Every time he wins by a small margin, he comes here for bandages, stitches, or whatever else ails him. If you see him, please tell him we are getting tired of patching him up every time."

" _Prize_ fighters? Is Hunter S'dezo'houn fighting for _money_?"

"I'm afraid so. He is quite good at it. We know. We also look after his opponents."

Mareva's eyes narrowed. "Where is this Circle of Wills?"

Josie Birch pointed out the door. "Take a right, then go down. Head for the noise."

"Thank you," said Mareva, turned on her hooves and walked out of the door. Ellandriel started to follow her, but Ariciel grabbed her shoulder.

"I know that look on her face. Whatever she's going to tell Stetson, we won't be able to understand it. While we're here, Miss... Birch? Miss Birch. How good are you with arms?"

"Arms are a speciality. Please tell me a fish didn't swallow it." 

* * *

Stetson sat at the edge of the circle, staring at the ground, preparing himself. There was quite a large crowd, and they were cheering for him. Stetson didn't care. He was not here to be popular, he was here to earn his flying lessons, his ticket out of here. If he won this fight, he would have enough. If he won. He took courage in the fact that he was not _expecting_ to win. No matter how many times he had won, no matter how the mindless idiots told him he was invincible, he still knew that no matter how many times a coin showed heads, the next time was just as likely to show heads as it was tails.

He turned round. Walked to the middle of the circle. Once more. One more fight, and then he could say goodbye to all this, and good riddance. He looked over to the other end of the Circle. A slender figure, dressed in a hooded robe. Oh damn. A Draenei woman. Stetson had fought only one other Draenei woman and had hated it. She had reminded him too much of... Stetson blinked.

"Hello, _My-ah_ _sladkaya_."

Stetson took a breath. " _Mareva_?"

"Recovering in hospital are you?"

"Um..."

"Picking up a little extra cash?"

"I needed it for my flying lessons, so I could search for you from the air."

"That is good to know. Do you have enough money now?"

"I only need to win... this fight."

A slow grin started on Mareva's face.

Stetson's eyes grew large. "I cannot fight _you_!"

"Excellent," said Mareva. "Easy win for me."

"You can't fight _me_!"

The bell rang. Stetson found he was flying backwards. Apparently, she could. 

* * *

"Daros Moonlance?"

Ellandriel was addressing a tall, dark-skinned Night-elf with a grey moustache, though no beard. Ariciel stood a little way off, not wanting to involve herself with all these High-borne machinations. Ellandriel produced the letter from the side pocket of her pack and showed it to him. Daros Moonlance looked round, a bit uneasy.

"Has your... teacher, not come with you?"

Ellandriel looked at Daros Moonlance's face. Here was an Elf who Shan'do had wanted to kill. Shan'do had never explained why. Back before the Sundering, politics had run hot. It might simply have been an exaggeration, but Ellandriel thought she could see genuine fear on Moonlance's face.

"My Teacher is dead," said Ellandriel. "Shan'do stood against a Fell Reaver of the Burning Legion, and allowed me to escape, so that I could bring this message to you. I am most interested in your explanation."

Ellandriel watched closely. For the briefest of moments, a flicker of relief showed on Daros Moonlance's face. Then, he closed his eyes, folded his hands and bowed his head to her.

"That is a great sadness," said Daros Moonlance. "We may have had... our differences, but your Teacher's courage was an example to us all. Let me assure you, this death was not in vain." Daros Moonlance glanced at Ariciel, who was on one knee, looking at a small mustard plant in the grass, with only a quick look back at them. "I will not speak of it here. We need a place away from eyes and ears."

"And Keldorei?"

"The Keldorei need to know what I am about to tell you. It affects all the Night-elves. It affects all living creatures. Come with me."

"Very well," said Ellandriel. "Ariciel? Mr. Moonlance wishes to discuss something with me in private. Will you excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course," said Ariciel, walking up. "If he gets fresh with you, yell and I'll come flying." She smiled at Daros Moonlance. "It's not I don't trust you, Mr. Moonlance, but I don't." 

 

"Honestly," said Daros Moonlance. "Does the woman think I am going to sunder this continent while she is not looking?"

They were walking up the stairs in the Legerdemain Lounge, to Daros' room. Ellandriel resisted the temptation to look round, but she had the distinct impression that Ariciel wasn't far away.

"She is a Feral Druid. It is in her nature to protect the people she has accepted as friends. I am honoured to be in that group. I would not have expected that of her."

Daros Moonlance said nothing. He touched the door to his room, dispelling the enchantments that held it shut.

"Please enter. I have enchanted this room not to let out any sounds. I cannot trust _anyone_."

The door closed behind Ellandriel, and a dead silence descended. The bed was not made up. There were empty glasses and dirty plates on the side table. Clearly, Daros Moonlance did not allow the Lounge staff in his room. She wrinkled her nose. The place stank. The staff would not be happy when he left.

"Please sit down, Miss Ellandriel."

Ellandriel looked round, moved a stack of papers from a chair to the table, and sat down. Daros Moonlance stood in front of her and took a deep breath.

"Before I continue, you must swear to me that you will convey this message to none other than Magis Mordent Evenshade, in Darnassus."

"One of the High-borne, in _Darnassus_?"

"Please let me finish, Ellandriel." Daros Moonlance kneeled down in front of Ellandriel's chair and looked into her eyes. "Have you heard of Neltharion?"

"Neltharion. Deathwing. Of course I have. He was the master of the Black Dragonflight. He was killed in the Second War."

Daros Moonlance closed his eyes a moment, to see if his sound wards were still active. Then, he spoke in a whisper.

"Neltharion lives."

Ellandriel blinked. 'Deathwing' to her was a dark figure of legend, a by-word of fear from ancient time. Daros Moonlance was shaking.

"In his lair in Deepholm, dead Neltharion lies dreaming. Soon, he will return, to the ruin of all. If we do not act, and act _now_ , then all of Azeroth will be covered in darkness. We can no longer afford to be separate from our kinsfolk. All the Night-elves must unite once more. Our knowledge of the Arcane will be essential in countering this threat. We must unite, and even if we do, there is no guarantee of victory. If the Keldorei do not accept our help and knowledge, then we are lost. Mordent Evenshade is in Darnassus now, trying to gain an audience with Tyrande Whisperwind, but he is not allowed in. I have compiled a volume of information on Deathwing and his doings. You must bring this information to Darnassus. Will you do it?"

"Yes," said Ellandriel. "But why do you not bring this information yourself?"

"I was one of the mages who brought that accursed Portal into existence, for Lord Sargeras. To go to Darnassus is death to me. You, however, are..."

"Expendable?" Ellandriel sniffed.

"Innocent," said Daros Moonlance. "Please. I can send you now, if you want."

Ellandriel shook her head. "Not without my friends. They have brought me here, safe and sound." She ran her fingers along her arm. The broken bone had been re-set and re-healed by Matron Olisarra. She almost felt like she had lost a trophy. "I will not leave without speaking to them."

"Time is of the _essence_ , Ellandriel. We must re-forge the connections between Keldorei and Quel'dorei, while there is still time."

"By vanishing into thin air, leaving my Keldorei and Draenei friends wondering where I have gone?"

"They don't _matter_. We need to go to the very top. We need to have an audience with Tyrande Whisperwind. You, _you_ can be part of this."

Ellandriel got up. "I am already a part of this. I would never have expected it, but I am."

"Hah. You have found your ways into the favours of the Keldorei, have you? Are they treating you with due respect now?"

Ellandriel looked at the High-borne Mage. She couldn't believe her ears. Even after ten thousand years of exile, now living in fear and squalor, hidden away behind walls and magic, he _still_ thought himself above... who? Everybody?

"They make the most atrocious fun of me whenever the opportunity presents itself," said Ellandriel, not sure why she suddenly felt so unbelievably happy about this. "So. Mr. Moonlance, do you have a message for me to deliver, or not?"

"A book, actually. This tome represents decades of my work, careful, dangerous research. People have died for this knowledge. It is the only extant copy. It is my hope that Magis Mordent Evenshade will be able to use it to persuade the Council to accept us back into Night-elven society."

Ellandriel tilted her head slightly.

"Mr. Moonlance, when I was a young girl, someone told me that the word 'gullible' was not in the dictionary. So I verified, and what do you know? It _was_. I have been unable to trust anyone since. How many people have copies of this book?"

Daros Moonlance sneered, held out the book to Ellandriel. She took it.

"Mordent Evenshade. Darnassus. Correct?"

"Yes." 

 

As Ellandriel opened the door, the first thing she saw was a large, grey-white cat lying curled up on the thick carpet, one yellow eye watching the door. Ellandriel grinned, walked over and bent over the cat, hands on her knees.

"Walkies!"

Cat-Ariciel raised her head, and her tail banged against the wall with enthusiasm. Then, she jumped to her feet, and skipped down the stairs ahead of Ellandriel. As they walked out onto the street, the stars were out, and all Darnassus' lights were on. Ariciel changed back to her Elf shape without breaking stride. Ellandriel looked round at her.

"Lady Ariciel?"

Ariciel raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you for looking out for me," said Ellandriel.

"My pleasure," said Ariciel. "He looked like a git."

"He was. High-borne." 

* * *

Stetson immediately recognised the ceiling when he opened his eyes. O dear. He'd lost then. The Goblin would be besides himself with joy - profit at last! For Stetson, it meant he would need... three? Four fights to get his money back, and he could go and find...

Someone put a damp towel on his forehead. Stetson's eyes turned round.

"Comfy, my love?"

Stetson considered his answer carefully.

"Yes, thank you."

"I thought you were dying," said Mareva. "We had agreed that you would not do that, hadn't we?"

"I was under a new kind of Scourge curse. If not for Anchorite Yazmina, I would have died."

"And so, having miraculously escaped death, you decide to have people shoot at you in some rancid prize-fighting ring."

Stetson sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Just like payment in lieu for a trip to Dalaran?"

"Eh?"

Mareva gave him a Look. "You slept with Helmsman Debaar."

"Well, so did you. She explained to me what you did on the trip to Azeroth."

Mareva did not turn her eyes away, not even for a moment.

"I am sorry, Mareva."

"There are no promises between us," said Mareva. "You did nothing wrong. Still, it hurt."

Stetson reached out, put his big hand on Mareva's slender arm.

"You are the last person I would want to hurt. I would endure anything rather than hurt you." Stetson looked at the wall opposite his bed. "It seems my wishes have been granted."

"Move over," said Mareva. She pulled up Stetson's blanket.

Stetson moved to one side. Mareva got under the blanket with him, and put her head on his shoulder. She'd picked a sore spot to put her head on, but Stetson said nothing. He watched Mareva's face, eyes closed, a smile that made his stomach knot up.

"I apologise for fighting you tonight," said Mareva. "Did you lose much money?"

"Half my capital," said Stetson. "I cannot afford my flying lessons now. But since you have found me, I do not need them."

"I put all my money on myself," said Mareva. "I know what a wimp you are when confronted by attractive Shaman chicks."

"How much?"

"Five hundred gold at eighteen to one."

"That is... nine thousand!"

"Actually, it is over nine thousand. I had a little chat with the Goblin, and explained to him that you would find it hard to hit me. He was most appreciative. He promised me another twenty if I would win."

"And he... _paid_?"

"Of course. A Goblin's word is his bond. It is when you _make_ your deals that they rob you blind. 'Twenty K on a win', indeed. What kind of a zlotnik does he think I am?"

"You did not say you were _sorry_ for fighting me."

Mareva wriggled a bit, getting more comfortable.

"No."

"Engineer Mareva, I love you."

"Since I am already in your bed, I assume it is for my money." Mareva looked up at Stetson. "You big lump. What made you do something as stupid as that?"

Stetson ran his fingers through Mareva's hair.

"Let me tell you about Garz'houn. Let me tell you about my brother." 


	18. Sharp things and blunt instruments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to you live from the Discworld Convention. Ellandriel and her friends set off for Darnassus, across the frozen wastes of Northrend. Luckily, now that the Lich king is no more, these lands are once more safe to cross. No, really!

"That is easy," said Mareva. "Valgarde is to the south-east from here. There, we take the steam boat to Menethil. Sail to Theramore from there, and fly the rest of the way."

"Either that, or we find a friendly mage who can portal us," said Ariciel. "Do we know any?"

Ellandriel wiped the last of the egg off her plate with a bit of bread. "I cannot make any portals, nor to be honest, am I very friendly."

"I think we should leave soon," said Stetson. "I feel we have made ourselves somewhat impopular with the prize fighting people."

Stetson passed Mareva the bread basket. They were sitting quite close, and their tails were touching. Stetson had healed up wonderfully.

"I wonder why," said Mareva. She reached for the eggs at the same time Stetson did. They looked at each other, did the 'No You Go First' dance. Mareva won, and scooped exactly two-thirds of the scrambled egg onto her plate. Stetson looked sadly at the remaining egg, turned round to find Inzi, the Gnome barmaid, already there with a fresh bowl of eggs.

Ellandriel pushed her plate away, and opened the book again. The pages were yellowed, or as the book people have it, "slightly foxed". It was written mostly in Darnassian, with occasional quotes in Common or Thalassian. Mareva looked over.

"What does it say?"

"It is mostly about the doings of various cults, and the gods they worship. Or, in this case, the Black Dragon Aspect."

"Do they perform evil and debauched rituals to appease their gods?"

"Ritualised perverse sexual acts, blood sacrifices, and depravities of a disturbing nature?"

"Perhaps," said Mareva, looking over Ellandriel's shoulder.

"It doesn't say," said Ellandriel. She grinned at Mareva. "I should have a pen somewhere you could borrow, though."

"That would make the Night-elves wish to join with the Cultists, rather than the High-borne," said Stetson.

Ellandriel leafed through the book. "Ah. This is where it gets interesting. Oh my goodness. Apparently, this Deathwing creature has his armour nailed to his very hide."

"Clever, that," said Ariciel. "Someone remind me, the purpose of armour is to keep pointy things _away_ from your skin, isn't it?"

"More importantly," said Mareva, "How is this going to improve the High-borne relationship with their long-lost relatives?"

"I am not certain," said Ellandriel. "Perhaps as an illustration of the kind of threats we may help combating."

Mareva pinched a slice of bacon from Stetson's plate. "Are the Keldorei going to receive you with open arms?"

"Not very likely," said Ellandriel. "But as long as they refrain from pointing sharp things at me, I will be able to complete my task."

"Then why go in the first place?"

"My Teacher told me," said Ellandriel, simply. "I may not have too high an opinion of Mr. Daros Moonlance, but Shan'do told me to follow his orders. Also..." Ellandriel looked round the table. "Where else should I go? I have no place to call home, except Eldre'thalas, and I will not return there."

"It will be nice to see Lirael and Bearwalker again," said Ariciel.

Stetson smiled, remembering. "How is she?"

"Good when last I looked."

"I have never been to Darnassus," said Stetson.

"I know a tavern there," said Mareva.

"You know a tavern _everywhere_ ," said Ariciel.

Ellandriel looked from one face to the other. She could not believe her ears. Here they were, calmly planning to accompany her to Darnassus. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, quietly.

"What for?" said Ariciel.

"For coming with me."

Ariciel shrugged. "Why not? Mareva has her boyfriend, and I've had word that Bannog is pissing about in the Eastern Plaguelands for some reason. No way am I going there again. Let him find someplace clean first."

"Someone is watching us," said Stetson. "Behind me. Table to the left. Draenei man."

Ariciel's eyes flickered over, then returned to Stetson. "I see him. Want me to charge him?"

"He may simply be admiring Mareva's tail," said Stetson, seriously.

"Yeah," said Ariciel. "Like I said, want me to charge him?"

"He may be watching _your_ tail, my savage hunter." Mareva turned to Ariciel. "Charge him."

There was a polite cough, and the Draenei man stood by their table.

"Pardon me. I could not help overhearin' your conversation. Are you going to Valgarde?"

Stetson turned round. "We are not quite decided yet, but it seems likely. How does this concern you?"

The Draenei man folded his hands and bowed his head at them.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fortibrais, Paladin of the Light. I need to travel to Valgarde meself, to introduce myself to the flight master there. I can offer you my services as a healer."

"Hmm." Ariciel looked Fortibrais up and down. "We could do with a dedicated healer. We've got plenty of firepower, but no fallback for when it goes wrong."

"It would be good to have the power of a Paladin on our journey," said Stetson. "How good are you?"

"I was a healer for a group of Paladins and a Warrior. Together we stormed Utgarde Pinnacle and brought down King Ymiron." Fortibrais coughed. "And then we got our sorry butts out of there as soon as possible."

"That sounds eminently sane," said Stetson, looking the Draenei man in the eyes. "I believe you."

Mareva turned to Ellandriel. "What do you think? Shall we pick up another stray?"

"What, _another_?" 

* * *

It was a bright and sunny morning at Krasus' Landing. Four bright new gryphons stood on the landing platform, ready to depart. Mareva was no longer a rich woman, having blown her entire fortune on gryphons for all. "Found money", she had called it. Even Ariciel now had a pretty brown gryphon with blue reins. She didn't really need it, having the _marvellous_ ability to turn into a bird, but she had to admit, you couldn't easily talk to people if you had a beak instead of a mouth.

"Are we ready?" Mareva looked round.

Stetson looked a bit uneasy, sitting on his new beast. On the one hand, these gryphons were not truly living creatures, which was good, because a wild gryphon would probably break its back if four hundred pounds of Draenei male sat on it. On the other hand, it had the shape of a beast, but no soul, which was unnerving. Also, since there was no way of fitting Morgan in the saddle with him, he'd had to stuff him away again, only hours after first re-summoning him. Morgan would not be a happy cat when he came back. Fortibrais sat a little way off, on a white Hippogriff he'd earned far away in the North in the wars against the Lich King, now deceased. He looked at the others with an unfathomable look in his glowing eyes.

Ariciel stretched. "Get going already."

With a rush of feathers, they all took to the skies. There was a bright sun out, and the air was crisp and clear. The wind beat in their faces. They kept a fairly high altitude, and the whole of Crystalsong Forest lay beneath them in its glittering splendour of crystallised trees and purple shrubs. Ellandriel was the only one who had never flown before. At first, she clung to her gryphon, holding on to the saddle with white knuckles, gripping the beast between her thighs until her legs started to ache. Then, she gradually relaxed. Next to her, Ariciel flew with a wild look in her eyes, turning this way and that in the saddle, looking round. Well, _she_ could turn into a bird if she fell off. Mareva flew in front, holding a compass up to her eye. She was leading them due south-east, hoping to clear the frozen fields of Dragonblight before night. She found a convenient landmark to aim for, and dropped the compass, letting it dangle on the string round her neck. Stetson and Fortibrais took up the rear.

Soon the bright white snow of Dragonblight lay beneath them. It grew colder, and Mareva took them down, till their gryphons skimmed just above the snow, looking for a good place for a stop. Herds of woolly mammoths walked below, heading North to the mountains. They landed in the snow, quickly had a bite of flatbread with dried meat, and set off again. Ellandriel was cold, even while she was wearing all of her clothes. Then, she remembered Shan'do's voice. A _cold_ firemage?

"Apologies, Shan'do," she whispered, and channeled a little bit of fire magic. She heated up wonderfully. 

 

Ariciel flew in front, when the snowy plains gave way to the woodlands of the Grizzly Hills. The trees were gorgeous in their autumn shades, and she could see bears, stags, and wolves if she flew low enough. This forest was so different from Darkshore. Trees here grew slowly, steadily. Their wood would be hard, and have many tight rings. Lirael had shown her one of her violins, made from wood out of this forest. It had belonged to her grandfather, who had made it himself. Its tones were still as deep and vibrant today as they had been when first it was made. Lirael had never known her grandparents, but this instrument still made the same music that her grandfather had played.

Ariciel looked ahead, spotted a perfect place to have lunch, waved at her friends and made for it. She didn't feel like hunting much, but at least now, they could make a fire and have hot tea.

She felt it as soon as she got off her gryphon. Hairs raising in the back of her neck. She shot Stetson a look. He didn't seem to trust this place either. His crossbow was in the crook of his arm, loaded and ready. He whistled, and Morgan appeared like a ghost by his side. Ariciel watched Stetson close his eyes, concentrating.

"We are not alone here," said Stetson.

Ariciel took a breath, and cast the spells that made her skin harden, and the Gift of the Wild that bolstered everyone's defences. Fortibrais closed his eyes in prayer, and the Light's glow shone from him, strengthening all.

"Let us leave while we can," said Mareva.

From out of nowhere, a dark figure appeared, stabbed Mareva in the back and leapt at Ellandriel while Mareva fell over. Fortibrais pointed a hand at Mareva, and a fountain of Light sprang up underneath her, through her. She struggled feebly to get back on her feet, but couldn't. The figure, a Blood-elf, had grabbed Ellandriel from behind and twisted her arm behind her back, a knife against her throat. His eyes glared a cruel green.

"Weapons down, or-"

Stetson, in one fluid move, whirled round, aimed, fired. The Blood-elf slowly collapsed, Stetson's crossbow bolt sticking out of his eye. Ariciel turned to her bear form, turning round and round looking for more enemies. Ellandriel coughed, checked her throat for blood, grabbed her staff and cast her battle spells. Fortibrais kneeled by Mareva,

"You alright, me girl?"

Mareva struggled to her hooves. "I am. Just winded. Thank you for the armour, Ariciel."

Ariciel grunted, looked round.

"There are more," said Stetson. "Ready?"

There was a crackling noise, and Ariciel charged forward. A bolt of fire headed for Ellandriel hit Ariciel in the chest, and she growled. At a shout from Stetson, Morgan charged in and attacked the spellcaster, another Blood-elf. Three more came running from between the trees, swords and daggers out. Ariciel turned round, and put herself between the sword-fighters and the others. Ellandriel, Mareva and Stetson now opened fire. Fortibrais cast spells of healing on Ariciel.

One of the Blood-elf swordfighters ran away from the pack, and circled round to attack Fortibrais, who was concentrating on healing Ariciel's wounds as, and sometimes even before, she received them. With her weapons shining with the Holy Light, the Blood-elf ran at Fortibrais, who neatly sidestepped her and swung his mace at her. The Blood-elf rolled out of the way in her plate armour, and was on her feet again. She faced Fortibrais, hoping to distract him from healing Ariciel. There was a noise like a sledge-hammer hitting a metal barrel, and the Blood-elf staggered forward. Turning round, she saw Mareva bearing down on her. As Fortibrais returned to his healing, Mareva took another swing at the Blood-elf, with her slender staff imbued with Earth-magic. She hadn't a chance of piercing the Blood-elf's armour, but she could turn her body to jelly inside her plate. The Blood-elf bared her teeth and counter-attacked with sword and dagger. Mareva sprang back, struck out at the hand holding the sword. She got lucky, and the sword went flying. Mareva's staff swung round, fast, and hit the Blood-elf in the chest. As she did, Mareva felt the energy travel back, along her weapon, burning her as if with fire. As she shrunk back, gasping for breath, a fierce light grew all round the Blood-elf, then leapt out at her, hitting her square in the chest.

Mareva screamed.

Stetson lowered his crossbow. The spellcaster had not been able to deflect all Stetson's arrows. Now, he had cast a spell that encased him in an impenetrable ice block. Stetson did not waste any arrows on him. It gave him a few moments to see who else needed shooting. Ellandriel and Ariciel had two of the three sword-fighters between them. Ariciel lashed out, tooth and claw, and managed to dodge most of the return strikes. Fortibrais was ready whenever Ariciel got hit. Stetson looked round at Mareva, who was fighting the third sword-fighter. She was between him and her enemy, hammering on the Elf's defences. Stetson aimed his crossbow, but with them both moving around, it was difficult to get a clean shot. He winced as the Elf's battle spells hit Mareva. It seemed to make her angrier and angrier. Stetson started to run round so he could get a clean shot, but at that moment, a cracking sound warned him that the mage was breaking out of his ice block. Stetson whirled round, called out to Morgan to attack, and fired.

Ellandriel's mind was fizzing. She was using her most potent fire spells, taking care not to hit Ariciel. Her staff glowed in her left hand, adding power and focus to the attacks she shot from her right. Even so, these cursed Sin'dorei should have died minutes ago. Clearly, they had magical protection.

"I'll have that," said Ellandriel, and concentrated.

This was a spell that rarely got used in Eldre'thalas. It was considered rude and reckless to steal the protection of your opponents in a duel. Just the thing for Sin'dorei. With wicked satisfaction, she felt the magical barrier move from her enemy to herself. She took a deep breath, and cut loose with the most powerful fire blast she could manage. The Blood-elf swordfighter cried out, turned round to charge her. Ariciel saw her chance, and raked her claws over the Elf's back. He fell to his knees, then onto his face.

Ariciel and Ellandriel now rounded on the last swordfighter, who leapt backward to get them both in front of him. Fortibrais' mace hit him from behind. He dropped his sword and collapsed.

Just as they turned round towards the Blood-elf mage, he cried out, disappeared, and re-appeared between them. There was a rush of ice and all froze in place, as though their legs were fixed to the ground. With a curse in Thalassian on his lips, he faded from sight. They all strained their muscles to no avail, as out of their field of vision, Mareva was still fighting the last Blood-elf. The sounds of battle ended, and the quiet was oppressive. They could hear the sound of laboured breathing, but not who it was. Stetson's muscles bulged, his face turned dark, but he could not break the bonds of magic that held him. There was a hand on his shoulder, and try as he might, he could not even see what colour it was.

Leaning heavily on her staff, Mareva stepped forward where he could see her. Her armour was torn to pieces. One of her eyes was shut with congealed blood, and she could not use one arm. She balanced herself carefully on her hooves, and with her other hand swung round her staff, with a noise somewhere between a grunt and a cough. She hit the ice barrier holding Stetson, and it shattered like an egg-shell when finally you put too much pressure on it. Stetson sprang forward and caught her in his arms as she fell.

With Mareva in his arms, Stetson stepped over to Fortibrais, and kicked hard. The barrier broke, and Stetson handed over Mareva to the healer without a word. Only then did he free the others. He looked around him.

"Morgan!"

Stetson's cat appeared behind him, and pushed his head in his knee. Good. Stetson found his crossbow, fitted an arrow, then concentrated. Nothing moved in their immediate vicinity. the Blood-elf mage would be long gone, if he knew what was good for him. There was a soft noise, and Stetson turned, crossbow up. He walked over to Mareva's enemy, a Blood-elf woman.

He stopped.

The Blood-elf lay on her back, dagger fallen from her hand. Blood ran from her nose and mouth, and she was trying to swallow so she could breathe. She coughed, spraying drops.

"You," said Stetson.

The Blood-elf's green eyes looked up at Stetson. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She stopped trying to talk, and simply looked at him, a silent plea. Then, she closed her eyes, tilted back her head, exposing her throat. Stetson, without hesitating, aimed his crossbow, pulled the trigger. The Blood-elf's arms and legs twitched once, then relaxed.

Ariciel walked up, bloody and battered, but alive and defiant. She looked down on the Blood-elf's body.

"Waste of a good arrow," she said.

Stetson put one hoof on the Blood-elf's chest and pulled out the arrow. He started to put it back in his quiver, then changed his mind and dropped it on the floor.

"Yes," he said, and went to see how Mareva was. 

* * *

The inn was called Amberpine Lodge. They went in, got a room, and licked their wounds. Fortibrais had been hit by a few pieces of flying magic, and healed himself. He had lit a few candles on the table, set out the simple symbols of his faith, and now sat kneeled in prayer. Ellandriel hadn't a scratch on her. Mareva had been burnt badly by the Blood-elf's magic, and had a stab wound. She lay on the bed, bandaged, with her healing totem nearby. She'd sent Stetson away for some tea, or Qrovna, or whatever.

Ariciel sat in a comfortable chair, bare feet on the table, leaning back, eyes closed. She had not been able to dodge everything, and might have cracked a rib. A few regrowth spells had fixed that.

Ellandriel had found a book. It was the most trashy of trash, but the trickle of words into her mind soothed her.

Stetson came in, followed by two Human serving girls bearing hot food and drink.

Ariciel's eyes shone at the sight of food. "Man has hunted shoveltusk. This woman approves of his gifts."

Stetson picked up Ariciel's feet, and dropped them on the floor. The girls put down the food. Stetson walked over to the bed, put a few more pillows behind Mareva's back and handed her a plate. Mareva looked at him with a slow, lazy smile on her face.

"Are you going to feed me as well, my love?"

"If need be, yes," said Stetson.

"Go feed yourself. Get your strength up." Mareva moved a little closer. "You may need it. I certainly will."

"Oi!" Ariciel looked over. "You're the only one with a boyfriend handy. Don't rub it in."

Ellandriel looked up from her book. "She is _recovering_. She'll hardly want to..."

"Speak for yourself," said Mareva and Ariciel at the same time. 

 

They were on the wing again, after a quick and early breakfast. They could all still feel the effects of their fight the day before. Magical healing was fast and effective, but the body still needed some time to adjust to the fact that it wasn't time to die yet. They all had sore muscles and rotten tempers. Both were slow to disappear, and it wasn't until the foreboding shape of Utgarde Pinnacle drifted into view that their mood lifted. Utgarde Pinnacle had been the home of a King of the giants native to Northrend known as the Vrykul. King Ymiron had allied himself with the Lich King. Now, King Ymiron was dead and all that was left of him and his people was the castle. Nobody particularly wanted to live there, so it was simply left to collapse in its own time. Nearby was the town of Valgarde, where steam boats sailed daily to and from Menethil, a small port town in the Wetlands north of the Dwarven lands of Dun Morogh.

They decided against staying the night in Valgarde, and went straight to the pier, where the steam boat was being unloaded of supplies. Fortibrais would not be joining them on board. He had business in other parts of Northrend. They sat in the Inn till it was time for the ferry to leave, then said their goodbyes to Fortibrais. The steamer picked up speed, and set off towards the well-known lands of the Eastern Kingdoms. 

* * *

Fortibrais stood on the pier, arms crossed, looking at the plume of smoke from the boat. There was a noise beside him and he looked down to see a Dwarven Paladin standing next to him.

"So," said the Dwarf. "It worked then? They dint recognise ye?"

"It worked alright," said Fortibrais. "Not even a glimmer of doubt in their minds, Light bless 'em."

"Good. If it works on _them_ , it'll work on anyone. So what's it like, bein' that tall?"

Fortibrais grinned. "I have to keep meself from ducking whenever I go through a door." He sighed. "I soddin' _hate_ this disguise."

"Yer alive ta hate it," said the Dwarf. "Keep thinking of it like that." 


	19. Jinxes on the high sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the trip from Valgarde to Menethil, Ellandriel and her friends set sail for Theramore, from where they will fly to Auberdine, the quiet port town in Kalimdor. Life is about to get more interesting though…

Ariciel was the first off the boat in Menethil. She stood still looking round, memories floating round in her head. _That_ was where she and Bannog had sat, waiting for the very same ferry they would be taking now. _That_ was where the road was to Arathi, where she'd run in cheetah form just in time to prevent Bannog and his friends from being killed by marauding Goblins. Mareva stood next to her, and coughed. Ah. _That_ was where the tavern was.

"Drinks anyone?"

"Cider," said Mareva.

Ariciel looked towards the North as they walked towards the inn. What in the name of all that was reasonable was Bannog doing up there in the Eastern Plaguelands? The words of a sad song came to her:

>   
>  And if I was some small bird  
>  and had wings and could fly  
>  I would fly over the salt sea  
>  where my true love does lie  
>  Three years and six months now,  
>  since he left this bright shore  
>  Oh, my bonny light horseman  
>  will I never see you more?  
> 

Temptation tugged at her. She knew that her love could take care of himself. Possibly even now, better than she could. Still. She looked at Stetson and Mareva, who were up ahead a bit, then looked over her shoulder. Ellandriel had fallen a few steps behind, looking round at what was probably the first Human town she had ever been in. Ariciel waited, looking at her till Ellandriel shook herself, and quickly stepped up.

The bartender was still the same man who had been here when Ariciel had just arrived here. He didn't recognise her, but then again, the landlady had fed and watered them, and -Ariciel chuckled to herself- she had not wasted any time in getting her boyfriend upstairs. She sighed. She was enjoying the trip so far, except for the bits that weren't enjoyable, but it would have been so much better with her great big lug of a Human next to her. She looked at her hands. Was she strong enough already to follow him? Only one way to know for certain.

They asked the bartender when the ship for Theramore would sail, and were told that the Lady Mehley would sail that very evening. They booked passage, had a very good dinner, and went on board. Ariciel leaned on the railing as the lights of Menethil slowly disappeared in the distance. She stood up straight, raised a hand and sent up a bright shaft of light, like she had done so long ago, the first time she'd had to leave Bannog standing on the docks while she travelled to other places.

"Be safe, my love," she whispered. 

* * *

The Sun was on the horizon when Ellandriel swung her legs out of her hammock, careful not to disturb Stetson, who was in the hammock below her. Mareva's hammock hung next to his, and they were swinging in perfect time with each other, and the movements of the ship. She put on her robes, and grabbed her staff before walking out onto the middle deck. A small boy came out of the galley carrying a large steaming coffee pot, ran across the deck and disappeared below, leaving only the tempting smell behind. Ellandriel decided she wanted to see where they were going, and climbed up the stairs. She found Ariciel on the foredeck, sitting up straight, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the horizon, hands lying comfortably in her lap. Her staff lay on the deck in front of her. Ellandriel stayed back a bit, not wanting to disturb her, and looked out over the sea. There wasn't a ship in sight, nor any land.

Ariciel stood up, slid her staff through her hands, tapped it on the deck once or twice. As Ellandriel watched, Ariciel struck out at an imaginary enemy, stabs, thrusts, blocks. Ellandriel found herself involuntarily rocking along with Ariciel's movements. She finished her sequence with her staff tucked under her arm, and looked round at Ellandriel.

"Hi."

"Good morning, Ariciel. Please do not let me disturb your practice."

"No worries. Want to join in?"

"Um... do you mean sparring?"

Ariciel grinned. "Naah. I'd knock you overboard. Just a few exercises."

Ellandriel looked at the staff in her hand. It was a _magic_ staff. Simply hitting people with it had never even occurred to her. She stepped up. Ariciel held out her hand.

"Can I see it?"

Ellandriel handed over her staff. Aciciel ran her hands over it, tapped it on the deck and leaned on it. She tested it for weight, then handed it back to Ellandriel.

"Yeah, that'll work. Now have you ever done any staff fighting before?"

Ellandriel shook her head.

"Well, then. Divide it in three, and hold it at one third and two thirds. One hand at your belt, and point it right between your opponent's eyes."

Ellandriel did, staring ahead, feeling faintly ridiculous. Ariciel adjusted the position of her hands a little, then took the same stance.

"Good. Now hit the top of his head, like so..." 

Ellandriel copied Ariciel's moves, but Ariciel shook her head.

"Nono. Don't tuck the staff under your arm. Keep it on the outside. Hurts less when you miss."

"You miss?"

"Most of the time, you will, because your enemies are not idiots. You'll miss, or they'll block and you have to be ready for the counter-attack."

Ellandriel nodded. She tried again.

"Better. Don't try to hit hard yet, try to be accurate. Keep your staff close to your body."

Ariciel took Ellandriel through the basic attacks and the basic blocks. Then, she stood in front of Ellandriel, and blocked Ellandriel's strikes, stepping backward as Ellandriel stepped forward. By the time they finished, several crewmembers were standing around watching them.

"Scuse me, Miss?" Abe the cabin boy looked up at Ariciel. "Are you fighting?"

Ariciel bent down to the boy. "We are, but it's not for real."

Abe frowned. "Fighting's not allowed on board, except on oc-ca-sions of piracy. You stop it right now, or I'm tellin' the Captain."

"We're _practicing_. She's not really trying to hit me. I'm showing her how to hit bad people. Just for fun."

Abe was not convinced. "It's all fun till someone gets hurt. Then you'll be crying and running to your mum. And she's not even on board, so who _do_ you run to then?"

Ariciel said nothing for a moment, looking at Abe where he stood, arms crossed, a stern look on his face, indomitable.

"That's a very good question," said Ariciel. "You have a point there."

"It is not really fighting," said Ellandriel. "It is more like dancing."

Abe looked round to Ellandriel. "Dancing with _sticks_?"

Ellandriel gave Abe a brilliant smile. "Precisely! You have heard of Morris dancing, have you not? This is just like that."

Abe eyed Ellandriel suspiciously. "So you _weren't_ fighting, then?"

"Of course not," said Ellandriel. "We are _friends_."

Ariciel turned round, and wrapped her arms round Ellandriel to illustrate. Her head rested gently on Ellandriel's shoulder, and her eyes were almost closed.

"See?" said Ellandriel. Her smile didn't waver as she whispered to Ariciel. "Take your hand away or I shall _hurt_ you."

"What the blazes is going on here?" First mate Kowalski stood at the stop of the stairs. "Having a nice break, are we?"

Abe stood to attention and threw off a salute to put a soldier to shame. "It's alright, Mr. Kowalski. They're not fighting."

Kowalski stared at Abe for three long seconds, then at those Night-elves.

"I bet they weren't. Well, show's over. Do you think these ships sail themselves without a crew?" 

* * *

Ariciel and Ellandriel were on the foredeck. Ariciel sat with her back to the foremast, eyes closed, while Ellandriel leaned over the railing, staring into the distance. Stetson was on the main deck, fishing with a long line while Morgan looked on with great interest. Mareva wasn't feeling too well, and thought it best to stay in her hammock with her eyes closed. There was a stiff breeze, a few clouds in the sky. All the sails were out and the Lady Mehley gently rolled on the waves, making good time towards Theramore. Like all ship's captains, Captain Torgoley was staying well away from the Maelstrom, an ominous whirlpool in the middle of the ocean, the very site of the Sundering brought on by Queen Aszhara, and the Titan-lord Sargeras. Ellandriel could feel it, far to the North, like a permanent bad mood. In a way, she felt like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

Ariciel looked up to see Mareva joining them on the foredeck. She had her arms wrapped round herself as if she was cold, and looked round nervously.

"You alright, girl?"

"I am not..." Mareva's eyes fixed on Ariciel. "Is there a storm coming?"

Ariciel looked at the sky, shook her head. "Not that I know. Why?"

"I feel... I feel afraid. But I can feel that it is not my _own_ fear. Many people are very scared." Mareva winced, bowed her head. "It is giving me a headache. I cannot shake it."

Ariciel got to her feet, and held Mareva in her arms. She looked towards the main deck.

"Stetson!"

Stetson came rushing up the stairs, Morgan in tow.

"What is it?"

"Mareva. She's channeling someone, or many people. Fear."

Stetson put a big hand on Mareva's shoulder. She looked at him, eyes large and tearful. Then, without warning, as if a switch was thrown, her face became calm again.

"It has passed," said Mareva. "I can no longer feel it. I do not know why."

Ellandriel looked into Mareva's eyes. "Perhaps, the thing that they were afraid of, has happened to them." She looked at her feet. "I am too late. Neltharion. He has arisen. I did not believe Daros Moonlance, and now... Now I am too late. I should have let Daros Moonlance transport me. I would have been in Darnassus in _seconds_."

Ariciel put her hand on Ellandriel's shoulder. "Neltharion is a Dragon Aspect. That book you are supposed to deliver, what difference does that make?"

"It will help us fight him," said Ellandriel. "I must bring it to Darnassus. I _must_."

"We will." 

 

There was a shout from one of the crewmembers. "Captain! To the North! May the Light preserve us!"

Ellandriel, who was sitting next to Ariciel with her back to the fore-mast, looked up from her gloomy thoughts. Her eyes grew large and she poked Ariciel and pointed. A wall of water, a wave as tall as their masts, came rolling towards them.

Captain Torgoley's voice boomed over the ship. "All hands on deck! All passengers below! Batten down the hatches! Helm to starboard! Trim the sails! Put another reef in the mainsail!"

The crew jumped to the ropes, fastening all things that could be fastened. The Lady Mehley turned to starboard, her sails flapping in the wind. Up to now, she had been running ahead of the wind, but with the change in course, that would change. That made it necessary to reduce the sail, to avoid her being blown over. With the speed of long practice, the crew shot up the rigging and out onto the yardarm. With shouts of 'Way hay and _up_ ', the mainsail rose until the crew could fasten it. Agile like cats, they clambered down while below, the sheets were adjusted. The Lady Mehley sped up, great clouds of spray splashing from her bow. The Lady Mehley turned, planks creaking, to the North to meet the monstrous wave head-on. Ariciel and Ellandriel jumped down to the mid-deck. One of the Theramore soldiers held the door open for them, waving them on.

"Get below! Let's not get under the sailor's feet." She looked at Arciciel, who hesitated. "That means you too, Miss! Get below. Now."

Ariciel gave the soldier a grim smile. "Got a better plan."

She turned to her bird form, and climbed quickly. The soldier swore, went below and secured the door.

Ellandriel grabbed the soldier's arm. "Where is Ariciel?"

"Turned into a bird and flew away," said the soldier. "Bloody Druids."

Mareva nodded. "She will not be far. Druids can take care of themselves."

"Bloody passengers who don't do as they're told. She can walk the sodding plank for all I care." 

 

Ariciel flew ahead of the Lady Mehley, quickly gaining altitude so she could see better. The wave was incredibly large, extending to the East and the West as far as even she, high up in the air, could see. It was only a single wave, though, not the first of many. Good. With a bit of luck, their ship could survive it. Ariciel climbed higher and higher, but she could not see what caused this monster wave. Never mind. With a flick of her tail, Ariciel turned round and sped towards the Lady Mehley. Captain Torgoley was on the aft deck, holding the steering wheel together with Navigator Mehran. Ariciel dived down, landed on the aft deck and turned back to her Elf form.

"Captain? Single large wave, spreading as far East and West as the eye can see. Calm water beyond."

Captain Torgoley looked round to her, an angry scowl on his face. "Didn't I tell you bloody landlubbers to get below decks?"

"You sure did, Cap'n!" Ariciel smiled, waved, turned to her bird form and flew off.

"Bloody Druids. Brace yourself, Mr. Mehran. Here she comes." 

 

The Lady Mehley started to climb the mountain of water. With all her sails pulling her forward, she rose up, up to the top of the wave. Ariciel hovered a few dozen yards above her mast, looking down. Good. She was going to make it. Just a bit more. Come on! The Lady Mehley reached the top of the wave, and her prow and half of her hull rose above the water. Then, with a deafening crash, she came down, rolling violently. Her port railings disappeared under the water. Then, slowly, slowly, the Lady Mehley righted herself.

The captain shook the water out of his hair, and turned the wheel to port. He laughed with the relief of still being alive, still being upright. He shook his fist at the monster wave as it rolled on to the South.

"Not good enough, you bastards!" He slapped Navigator Mehran on the back. "Now _this_ , Mr. Mehran, is what they mean when they say 'Shiver me timbers'."

"Aye, Sir," said Mr. Mehran. "And a good shivering it was. Almost as good as the one I had off the coast of Stranglethorn in the summer of twenty-five."

Captain Torgoley laughed. "Bloody showoff."

"Man overboard!"

Captain Torgoley's eyes turned amidships, where Sailor Wicks was pointing.

"Who? Where?"

"Vines, Sir! Oh blast! She's going under!"

With a loud screech, Ariciel dived down. She hadn't seen Sailor Vines being picked up by the waves, and washed overboard, but she could see where Wicks was pointing. With her wings folded backwards, she hurtled down towards the sea. At the last moment, she changed shape, to her Sea-lion form, and disappeared below the waves. She couldn't see anyone against the murk of the deep sea, so she dived deep to look up. Against the bright sunshine, she spotted the shadow of the drowning sailor. With powerful strokes of her flippers, she shot towards the sailor, and pushed her up. As they broke the surface, Ariciel turned back to her Elf form, and lifted sailor Vines' head up. Her eyes were closed, her lips were purple. Ariciel got behind her, put her arms round her and squeezed, making Sailor Vines cough up more water than seemed healthy. Ariciel took a deep breath, put her mouth over Sailor Vines', and blew air into her lungs. After a few breaths, Sailor Vines coughed, shook her head and looked up.

"Hi," said Ariciel.

"Ship... Where is the ship?"

"Still afloat, and hurrying away from us. Relax, Sailor. They'll be back to fish us up."

Sailor Vines looked round to Ariciel. "Thank you, Miss. You've saved my life."

"My pleasure." Ariciel looked as the Lady Mehley turned about, and came towards them. "So. Do you come here often?" 

 

Ariciel blew on her tea as she sat gently steaming in the heat of the galley. Sailor Vines sat on the bench next to her. The captain came in, and looked her over.

"Are you right, Sailor Vines?"

"Aye Captain," said Sailor Vines.

"Good." Captain Torgoley turned to Ariciel. "I am the captain of this ship. My word isn't _law_ , Night-elf, it is the word of the _gods_. I ordered you to go below. You did not do so. Are you too stupid to understand a simple order?"

"I thought I'd be of more use outside than..."

" _I do not need you to think._ I need you to stay out from under my crewmen's feet so they can do what is needed to save this ship from going to the bottom."

"Well, I told you about the danger facing us."

"I don't care. One wave, or a hundred waves. We have to brave them all."

Ariciel nodded her head at Sailor Vines. "And I saved one of your crew from drowning. Don't thank me."

"That, Elf, is the _only_ reason that you still have skin on your back. I've a good mind to strap you to the mast regardless, and make an example of you. Don't push your luck. Now go below and don't let me see you again till we get to Theramore."

The captain turned round, and stomped off. Ariciel turned round to Sailor Vines.

"Well, I _never_..."

Sailor Vines put down her tea mug, and got up.

"The captain is _right_ , Miss. You do not go against Captain's orders. You saved my life, Miss, and I'm grateful, but I don't matter as much as the whole of the ship. Captain Torgoley is one of the best captains I've ever sailed with. No matter what happens, no matter how bad it is, Captain always, _always_ knows what to do. This ship, this crew, we are one. We are one creature. Me, the other sailors, we are the arms and legs. The captain, he's the head. He's the one who thinks. He's the one who orders. And we do what he says, because if we don't, an arm or a leg falls off the creature, and it'll get swallowed by the seas, and it'll die. This ship is my family, Miss. I don't want it to die. Now you do what Captain says. Don't think he won't make good on his offer if you don't." 

* * *

Ariciel lay in her hammock, eyes closed. There was a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up into Mareva's eyes.

"We have arrived."

Ariciel only nodded, and followed Mareva. The Lady Mehley was lying at the docks. She walked towards the gangplank, where Captain Torgoley was talking to one of the harbour officials. He saw her, and nodded at her.

"Safe onwards journey, Miss."

Ariciel gave him a look, and said nothing.

"Sailor Vines sends her regards," said the Captain. "She's on shore visiting her mum."

Ariciel turned round, facing the captain.

"This ship is your piece of the world, Captain. Mine is too small to refuse help, even if I don't expect it."

"For my part, I cannot afford to work with unknown quantities. Too many lives are at stake. Light's blessings to you."

Ariciel turned round to leave.

"Oh Miss?"

"What?"

"Thank you for saving Sailor Vines' life. Our onward journey would have been a darker one without her."

Ariciel looked into the Captain's eyes for a long moment.

"Glad to be of service," said Ariciel. 


	20. Over the shattered world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here is where we open up a can of Night-elf Sentinels, and they open up a can of whoop-ass on the Horde. We’ve arrived in Astranaar, and there is a bit of a disturbance going on.

"No."

"Oh come on."

"You navigated through Ashenvale last time. It is my turn now. This will have the added advantage of being able to predict roughly when we will arrive in Darnassus."

"Pah. And deny our friendly firestarter the pleasure of getting to know the forest?"

"Would a forest truly be pleased to see a firestarter? Trees are notoriously inflammable. The trees might not like me."

"Forest fires are part of the greater cycle of life. They clear the ground for new plants."

"Hmm. I have read somewhere that volcanic soil is the most fertile of all soils."

Stetson sat back in his chair, watching the girls with interest, but keeping a safe distance from the actual discussion. No point sticking his oar in anyway. They would get to Darnassus at some point. He was with Mareva. That was all that mattered.

Mareva pointed at the map on the table. "We want to get to Darnassus as fast as we can be. Ellandriel does not have the flight point at Auberdine, therefore we have to fly under our own power. Even we are not as fast as the flight masters, but we can go more or less in a straight line. We stop at Astranaar, then head for Auberdine. There, we can take the ferry for Rut'theran Village. Easy!"

Ellandriel looked at the map. "The Barrens. That is Horde territory, is it not?"

Ariciel sneered. "Tell me about it."

"We will stay at high altitude until we reach Astranaar," said Mareva. "It will be a long flight though. We must have a good meal and wrap up warm."

"And wash behind our ears?"

"Would you take to the skies with Theramore filth behind your ears?" 

* * *

The rooftops of Astranaar came into view, exactly where Mareva had expected them to be. Good. This communing with the Forest Spirits was all well and good, but sometimes, you couldn't beat a nice, exact bit of trigonometry. By way of celebration, she flipped her gryphon's tail in the air and flew down in a power-dive. She pulled up sharply, and landed right in the middle of town. She blinked. The smell of smoke was on the wind, and all round her, Night-elves were pointing arrows and other sharp things at her. She raised her hands.

"Please do not shoot me. I am good people."

Sentinel Thenysil stepped forward, lowering her weapon. "Good people don't come diving down on us like a flesh bomb. Sorry, we're a bit jumpy round here."

Mareva sniffed the air, as her friends landed round her. "Has there been a fire?"

"You can say that. The world's gone to hell in a handbasket, and all the bloody greens can think of is to come and bother us here. I suppose if all you've got to defend is two rocks held together with shit, then you can afford to leave it for the bloody Twilight cult to tramp all over."

Ariciel walked up. "Sentinel Thenysil. Good to see you again. Is there trouble?"

"Druid Ariciel," said Thenysil. "Likewise. You can say that. The sodding Horde is camping in Silverwind Refuge. When all the bloody noise started, they jumped us. Killed everyone there, except Sentinel Starstrike and Bhaldaran Ravenshade, the bowyer."

"Damn," said Ariciel. "What happened?"

"Some Light-bereft Orc Shaman turned the Elemental Spirits in the lake against us." Thenysil looked at the ground. "Nothing we could do."

Mareva frowned. "How could they do that? It is difficult to control Elemental Spirits at the best of times."

"They didn't 'control' them, as such. They sent them into a blind rage of hatred. They used some foul, corrupted water elemental named Tideress. They'll not do that again, though. We got the Shaman that did it, and then the Orcs took out Tideress themselves."

"If ever I am tempted to work for the Horde," said Mareva, "please remind me to ask them if they intend to pay me afterwards or kill me."

"Wrong joke to make at this time," said Thenysil, giving Mareva a dark look. "Where are you headed?"

"We will be making for Auberdine," said Mareva. "And then on to Darnassus. Miss Ellandriel here has an errand there."

Thenysil shook her head. "You're not going to Auberdine. It's been attacked."

" _Auberdine_?" Ariciel snarled. "Bloody Horde again?"

"Deathwing," said Thenysil, and put her fingers to her forehead, then to her breast. "Auberdine is... destroyed."

"I know people in Auberdine," said Ariciel. She didn't dare ask.

"Many people were killed. A few survivors have been brought to Lor'danel. The unlucky ones have been buried. There is nothing left in Auberdine but ghosts and malevolent spirits. Make for Lor'danel instead. And also, don't try to fly there tonight. The lands are not safe. Stay the night here. Astranaar is as safe as any place. You'll want to get some food in you. Go see Kimlya."

"She's still _open_?" Ariciel grinned. "I like her."

"Was serving guests right through a Horde bombing run. She's a trooper."

"I'm going over there, and buy everything she's got on the menu."

"Cider for me," said Mareva. 

* * *

"Velene." Sentinel Thenysil walked up and embraced the woman who'd just walked in. "It's good to see you. How's things at the Spire?"

Sentinel Velene Starstrike looked into Thenysil's eyes. "Quiet for now. They can spare me for a night."

"Good. Raene is also coming. So is Luara."

"Hmm. Still a bit thin on the ground. Don't suppose you could spare any sentinels?"

"Not a chance," said Thenysil. "They're staying right here just in case those in-bred greenskins get it into their heads to attack again. I'm only coming myself because Caelyb and Cylania were good friends."

"Hmm..." Velene looked thoughtful.

"Mr. Hephaestus Pilgrim has expressed an interest."

"Has he, now? Does the Beast stir within him? Or is he just in it for the trees?"

Thenysil laughed. "Oh come on. He's been here for weeks. Do you think there's Worgen jokes I haven't heard yet? Also, we have a few guests. They might be up for an evening's fun."

"We can only ask." 

* * *

Stetson leaned on the table and looked round. The Elves were standing in the middle of the Inn, in full battle gear. Miss Ellandriel was sitting at a table, blinking, trying to kick-start herself with strong coffee. Mareva was sitting next to her, looking up at all these Night-elf women, trying to work out what, exactly, the plan was. They were all speaking Darnassian, so this was mildly challenging. Mareva's armour had been repaired by Mr. Tandaan Lightmane, with great speed, and while it didn't look as good as once it did, it was as strong as it ever was. Next to Stetson sat a Human man, wearing dark leather armour. A top hat and a cloak were in front of him on the table. He poured himself another mug of coffee, then held the jug up to Stetson.

"Yes please."

Hephaestus Pilgrim poured strong, dark, Darnassian coffee into Stetson's mug. "The _mademoiselles_ are discussing strategy. As far as I can tell, the objective is to kill enough Orcs at Silverwind Refuge to keep them vulnerable enough that they do not take any initiatives. Sadly, the time for re-taking it is not yet come. It was a beautiful place before the Horde defiled it."

Stetson looked over to the Night-elves, trying to tell them apart. Druid Ariciel, he thought he could recognise by now. Sentinel Thenysil was the one with the dark plaits. Tails - Thenysil. Sentinel Luara had green hair, and two very impressive Nightsaber cats. Lions - Luara. She was wielding one of these three-bladed Night-elf weapons. It would be interesting to see how she used that without cutting herself. And then, of course, there was Sentinel Velene Starstrike. She was the one with the short green hair, and the expression of boundless hatred lying just below the surface of her face. No need for a memory trick for her, but one came up anyway. Velene. Vengeance.

"Miss Velene Starstrike is not here for reasons of strategy."

"True."

Next to Stetson, Morgan suddenly looked up, concentrating on something at the other end of the room. Another tall Night-elf woman had just entered. Next to her were a large wolf, and a black and white striped cat. Morgan lazily got to his feet, and walked over, touching noses with the new arrival. Raene Wolfrunner went down on her knee, and looked at Morgan.

"Alright then, you _can_ go out with Korra, but if you don't respect her like you ought, I'm turning you into a pair of mittens."

Stetson finished his coffee, got to his hooves, and walked over.

"Is my cat bothering your cat, Miss?"

Raene looked up at Stetson. "Not at all, Mr..."

"Hunter S'dezo'houn. My friends call me Stetson."

"Raene Wolfrunner. _Enchantée_. Is that a Winterspring cat?"

"He is. His name is Morgan."

"Hmm. Hope he's not going to be too distracted by Korra."

Stetson grinned. "He'll be trying to impress her."

"Raene. You're here. Good." Thenysil walked over. "Time to get moving. We just need to find a place for our honoured guests. Druid Ariciel? We'll be employing hit-and-run strategies, rather than extermination, so I would like you to go cat on this fight."

"Meow," said Ariciel.

"Mr. Stetson, I think I will team you up with Raene. How is your marksmanship?"

"Above average, Miss Thenysil."

"Good. You and Raene will be our marksmen. When the noise starts, you stay behind and shoot anything that needs shooting. Your pets can make themselves useful." She turned to Mareva. "You are a..."

Mareva grinned. "I am a sparkle princess. I make pretty lightning. I can also make totems, and it would do any of you good to stay near them for strength, mana and regeneration."

" _Orc_ spells?" Velene's eyes burnt at Mareva. Mareva gave her back as good as she got.

"A common misconception. Orcs _discovered_ the Elemental Spirits. They did not _make_ them." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you think, perhaps, that we Draenei have an unrevealed love for Orcs?"

Thenysil stepped forward. "Easy, girls. Save it for later. And you, miss?" Thenysil did a quick double-take as she looked at Ellandriel. "Hang on. You are one of those High-borne witches aren't you?"

"Aye, Mistress," said Ellandriel. "High-borne witch at your service. I can shoot fireballs at Orcs, an it please you."

"Pleases me fine," said Thenysil. She thought a moment. "You're with Raene and Mr. Stetson. Mr. Pilgrim? You, Mareva, Ariciel, Luara, Velene, you're with me. Raene's group is the long distance firepower. My group does the melee part. Let's go kill some Orcs." 

* * *

They rode most of the way to Silverwind Refuge, ran the rest of the way. The Refuge was a sad sight. One of the first things the Horde had done, was to strip the place of trees that had stood there for thousands of years. Firewood. Sacrilege. Stetson felt Raene tense up next to him. Ellandriel was quiet.

"Bastards," said Raene. She looked first at Stetson, then at Ellandriel. "Nobody do anything stupid, you hear me? I want to kill as many of the filth as I possibly can. And then come back tomorrow and do it again."

"I cannot speak for tomorrow," said Stetson, "But today, I am at your service."

"As am I," said Ellandriel. "Deeds such as these must not go unpunished."

In the lake by the Refuge was a small island. A fallen tree provided a bridge to a smaller island. Raene walked into the water, causing only the slightest ripple. Stetson followed.

"Wait!" Ellandriel whispered.

"What is it?" asked Raene.

"I... I cannot swim."

Stetson looked at Raene, then at Ellandriel. "Get in the water. Hold on to both our shoulders. We will pull you through. Try to make as little noise as you can. Steady. Do not fall."

Stetson and Raene swam, holding on to Ellandriel.

Raene slowly shook her head. "You're not really a fighter, are you?"

"No, Lady. I am only a scholar."

"We need scholars," said Raene. "Whether we need them with us on an assassination mission, is a different matter. Stick to me like glue, girl, and you'll be fine."

Stetson sat down behind the fallen tree, put down his hunter's crossbow, and opened his pack. Out of this, he took a long, slender box. He opened it, and with a small spanner assembled the parts within into another crossbow. There were crossbows in Azeroth with stabbing spikes attached. There were longbows with skulls on, to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. This crossbow did not have any of those ornaments, and yet, it looked more vicious than any of the other weapons. This was not a weapon for use in a battle. This was a weapon to use when you really, really wanted someone dead. This was an assassin's weapon. Stetson held up a metal tube to Raene.

"Please, when we get back, do not tell anyone I have this scope. We are not allowed to bring our foreign technology into Azeroth."

Raene cast her eyes to the heavens. "Oh look everybody! He's got a magic scope! Nobody cares, Goat Man. Make plenty of dead Orcs, and nobody asks how you did it."

"Does that also apply to the Arcane?" asked Ellandriel.

"Dead Orcs," said Raene. "Solution to everything."

Stetson attached the legs to his crossbow, then started to wind the crank that tensed up the bowstring. The main building of the Refuge was open on the lower floor, not much more than a roof over one's head to work under when it rained. The warm rooms were upstairs. Orcs walked through the lower part. Raene chuckled, pointing at Stetson's crossbow.

" _Rests_? What kind of a noob needs a crossbow with little legs?"

"Noobs do not get to fire crossbow bolts over a distance of two hundred and fifty yards," said Stetson.

Raene stared. "Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

Stetson pointed. "Is there anyone in that building you take a special dislike to?"

"You're serious? You really plan to shoot from _here_?" Raene frowned. "If you are saying this to keep your filthy hide out of danger, then there will be trouble, understand?"

"Lady Raene," said Ellandriel, "I have not known Hunter S'dezo'houn for long, but I know him to be true, honest, and a good man. If he says that he can shoot people in the Refuge from here, then I believe him."

"Very well," said Raene. "Give me a moment."

She closed her eyes, concentrated, and used a Hunter's ability that re-shaped her eyes so she could see far away. She looked at the Orcs in the refuge. Stetson rested his crossbow, cocked and loaded, on the fallen tree.

"The captain appears to be there. It's a shame, but he is too well armoured... Ah. See the one next to him? Sitting on the bench?"

"Do you mean the one with the red and blue tabard and the teeth on his shoulders?"

"Blood guard Bear Donow." Raene's voice was carefully even. "He is the one who likes to torture and kill prisoners taken by mistake. Velene will be very pleased to know he is dead."

"I have a bead on him," said Stetson. "Whenever you want."

"That will be when Thenysil attacks." Raene looked over to the other end of the Refuge. "Shouldn't be long." 

* * *

Cat-Ariciel came prowling down the side of a hill, behind Velene Starstrike. Sentinel Thenysil walked next to her. Mareva and Luara followed, though Luara had sent her dark saber cats ahead. Her eyes were slightly unfocused from looking through the eyes of both cats at the same time. Mareva had to hold her arm now and then. Velene held up her hand, pointed forward.

"There. Let's get him."

"No," said Mareva. "He is a guard. _Quis_ _custodiet_ _ipsos_ _custodes_?"

Thenysil grinned. "For years, I thought that meant 'Who guards the custard.' She's right though, Velene. Someone will be watching him. If he disappears, we'll have the whole camp on our necks."

"That was the point, wasn't it?"

Mareva gave Velene a look. "The 'point', Sentinel Starstrike, is to return to Mistress Kimlya's inn, and tell her how many Orcs we have killed. We cannot do that if we are dead."

"If you are scared..."

"Yes, Sentinel. I _am_ scared. This is a scary situation, so it is right and proper to be afraid, and foolish not to be."

Velene looked at Thenysil. "Who thought it would be a good idea to bring passengers along?"

Hephaestus Pilgrim coughed politely. "If we are going to indulge in unnecessary risk-taking, then I will be glad to consider myself a passenger and depart if you so wish. We are but a small group. We must take care."

"[Cat-Ariciel] will scout ahead," said Ariciel, in Wildspeech.

Ariciel slipped behind a shadow and disappeared from sight. She gave the guard a wide berth, and looked round. If I were watching a guard, where would I hide? She looked up at the Refuge. That's where I would be, with a long-view like Mareva's. But then again, Orcs didn't usually give expensive equipment to the grunts. Hmm. Ariciel's whiskers twitched. Something was moving nearby. Ah. An Orc grunt was trudging from one guard to the next, checking if they were still there. Nice. That way, the moving guard would know if one of the stationary guards had disappeared, and the standing guards would know something had happened if they didn't get a visit every ten minutes or so. So the obvious thing to do was to hit every standing guard right after the moving guard had left, then get the moving guard. Which left only the question of how many moving guards there were. Ariciel's eyes burnt holes in the darkness. Just one? These Orcs were getting much too comfortable here. Time to tell them to take more care. As fast as she could, she slunk back to the others, and turned back to her Elf form.

"Five guards along a perimeter. One moving guard between them."

Thenysil nodded. "Two of us follow the moving guard and take down the standing guards behind his back."

"Leave that to me," said Luara. "My children will be quick about it."

"You've got it," said Thenysil. "Who wants the moving guard?"

"I will take care of him," said Hephaestus Pilgrim. "If you so please."

"Good. Rest of us, sit tight here, be ready to deal with any surprises."

Mareva looked at Mr. Pilgrim. "You do not appear to have a weapon. Do you have hidden daggers?"

Hephaestus Pilgrim bowed his head at Mareva, then closed his eyes, tilted his head back. When he opened his eyes, they glowed with a cruel blue light. A dark cloud of smoke whirled about him. When it cleared, Hephaestos Pilgrim had disappeared. In his place stood a creature, covered in dark fur, with a wolf's head, sharp strong claws on his hands. Hephaestos turned to Mareva.

"I _am_ a weapon, Devil-woman." Hephaestus sniffed the air. "Prey awaits." 

 

Hephaestus Pilgrim had vanished into the night. Sentinel Luara sat on the ground, eyes closed, directing her saber tigers. One by one, the guards fell to tooth and claw. After a while, Luara looked up.

"My girls are coming back. Mr. Pilgrim has just taken the moving guard."

"Good," said Thenysil. "Raene should be in position by now. Let's stir things up a bit. Druid Ariciel?"

"Yeah?"

"Things are about to get noisy here. Would you like to send down one of those pretty shiny Moonfire bolts behind my back?"

"Sure," said Ariciel, getting ready. "Just say when."

" _Behind_ me, not on my head."

"Spoilsport."

"Hah. Everyone else, I think the greens will feel moved to shoot arrows at me. Don't get behind me." She took a few steps forward. "Druid Ariciel? Lights, please." 

* * *

" _Tor ilisar'thera'nal!_ "

Sound carries far over the water, and even if they hadn't heard the battle cry of Thenysil and her group, the bright beam of moonlight flaring up in the middle of the Refuge would have been a hint. Thenysil stood silhouetted in the bright light, like an angel of vengeance. Raene hissed at Stetson.

"Now!"

Stetson quickly checked for windage, adjusted his aim, then pulled the trigger. The steel crossbow bolt sped across the lake and hit Bear Donow in the head, nailing him to the wall. His screams echoed over the water. Raene's mouth fell open, and she looked at Stetson, who was quickly rewinding his crossbow, hoping to get another shot in before they would be forced to move.

"Well, Hunter Stetson, it appears you are a true and honest man after all. That was impressive." She looked again at the commotion in the Refuge. "Where do you get one of those crossbows?"

Stetson glanced over at Ellandriel, who was on her feet, looking round for enemies. He leaned over to Raene, and whispered.

"I stole it from the armory in Honour Hold. There was an attack of Burning Legion daemons, and there was the cry of 'Everybody take a weapon and the Light protect us all'. So I did."

Raene's shoulders rocked with laughter. "I am beginning to like you, Mr. Stetson."

"That is only natural," said Stetson, with a grin. "Shall we try for another one?"

Inside the Refuge, Captain Tarkan turned round to his Blood guard, and shouted at him to keep quiet. Blood Guard Donov, against his habits, did not obey. Captain Tarkan stomped over, and with a vicious jerk ripped the crossbow bolt out of Donov's head. The screaming stopped abruptly. Tarkan's eyes turned into the night, following the path of the crossbow bolt. He pointed towards their island, and barked orders.

There was a whisper from Ellandriel. "Enemies approach. I believe they may have figured out where your arrow came from, Mr. Stetson."

"That is one disadvantage to this crossbow," said Stetson. "It allows one to keep a safe distance, but it takes an eternity to load."

Ellandriel pointed. "Orcs! They are in the water!"

Raene pulled out her crossbow. "Well, they don't lack for stupidity."

Stetson slung his assassin's crossbow on his back and picked up his normal hunter's crossbow. "They may be expecting a lone archer."

"Well, they're going to be disappointed," said Raene. She aimed at the closest Orc and fired. There was a vicious hiss as her exploding bolt hit the swimming Orc.

As soon as they saw their comrade sink, the other Orcs dived under. Raene reloaded her crossbow.

"Time to get out of here. Hang on to me, Miss."

No longer caring about stealth, they splashed into the water and swam, pulling Ellandriel along. Ellandriel got a nose full of water and spluttered. She looked at the shore. The distance looked about right.

"Blinking out," said Ellandriel, and cast her spell, ending up standing on the shore, watching Raene and Stetson come in. Orcs were on the island, getting ready to follow them. Ellandriel raised her hand and shot angry bolts of fire at the Orcs. At her feet, Raene and Stetson clambered out of the water and turned round to shoot at their pursuers. Most of them died, two of them fled.

"Ladies, let us run round the lake and see how our friends are doing."

"Lead on, Mr. Stetson. Miss? Stay close to me." 

* * *

Ariciel spotted an Orc who had fallen behind a bit, and jumped him. Her claws tore through armour, skin and bones. Then, she went for the throat. The Orc's friends heard their comrade's cries, and turned round. Ariciel quickly wrapped the shadows round herself and disappeared. As fast as she could, she ran round, looking for another opportunity. Luara's cats took away another one of the Orcs, dragging him off screaming into the darkness. Mareva had put down her totems, and stood between them, far too visible for Ariciel's liking, but that could not be helped.

There was a deafening cry to Ariciel's right, and she looked round to see Velene Starstrike, finally able to unleash her full wrath on her enemies. Wielding a three-bladed war-glaive, she descended upon a group of Orcs and tore through them like a scythe through a cornfield. Recklessly, she threw herself at the Orcs, stabbing, slashing and weaving her body between the axes and swords of the Orc soldiers. Ariciel glanced at her, and winced. Dark Orc blood was on her armour and her face. She was shouting, an occasional word, but mostly pure anger. Any Orc who opposed her was cut down. Any one who tried to run, she cut his legs from under him and left him rolling on the floor in agony. Ariciel looked away, attacked another one of the enemy. Before the fight took all her attention, the scariest thought struck her.

Sentinel Velene looked _happy_. 

* * *

Stetson ran round the small lake, until recently a favourite fishing spot for tired Alliance warriors. Morgan ran beside him. Behind him, he could hear the footfall and breath of Ellandriel. Raene took up the rear, her wolf Darri and her cat Korra running easily along. Stetson could not hear her at all. There was little doubt where they needed to be. Stetson could see the bright, brief flashes of lightning and flame of Mareva's magic attacks. Orcs, and now and then a Night-elf were silhouetted in the glare. As Stetson watched, another group of soldiers came from the main Refuge building and ran towards the fray. Without warning, Raene Wolfrunner was next to him.

"You take care of her, Hunter Stetson, I'm needed there."

Raene sped up, ran like the wind, her familiars next to her, and even using his Hunter's speed, Stetson could not overtake her. In the distance, he could see how the Night-elves defended themselves from the latest group of Orc grunts. He set his jaw. They were making for Mareva, thinking her to be the leader or the greatest danger or something. One big Orc pushed through the group and swung a big axe at Mareva. Stetson winced as Mareva blocked the stroke, and fell on her back. The Orc raised his axe and brought it down. Mareva rolled out of the way.

Stetson swore. He would be too late. Raene would be too late. Morgan would be too late. Only one thing to do. He swerved sharply to the left, and ran a few paces so he could get a clean shot. Then, he stopped. Droppping his hunter's bow, he reached for his black assassin's weapon. He ignored Ellandriel's questions what he was doing, and forced deep breaths into his lungs, focused, made himself calm down. Then, he took a deep breath, raised his crossbow, then slowly let out his breath as he lowered it. The crosshairs on his illegal night-vision scope lined up, and he pulled the trigger. The crossbow kicked his shoulder and fifteen inches of hardened steel hissed out to the Orc who was gloating at the woman at his feet, unaware that he was dead already. Just as his muscles tensed up to raise the axe and cut this impudent creature to pieces, the bolt hit. It entered through the only gap in his armour, at his neck, left the other end. He dropped his axe, and through his scope, Stetson could just see the incredulous look in his eyes. Then the Orc fell. The world flowed back into Stetson's consciousness. To his right, Ellandriel stood, hand raised in a shooting stance. He looked to the left, towards the Goblin's industrial area. A Goblin machine lay smoking in ruins, and the Goblin inside was screaming, trapped, trying to get out.

"Thank you," said Stetson.

"Let us move," said Ellandriel. 

 

They found Raene in the fray, off to the edge a bit where all good shooters are. Her wolf and her cat worked together, attacking Orcs from two sides at once. Stetson sent Morgan in towards Mareva, who was back on her hooves, and refreshing her totems. Sentinel Thenysil saw them, and hurried towards them.

"They're getting over their first confusion. Things are heating up."

Ellandriel paused a moment in her spell-casting. "Goblin engines are on their way. I managed to disable one, but we can expect more."

"I think we may have worn out our welcome," said Thenysil. She raised her voice and cried out in Darnassian. Five Night-elves, two Draenei and one Worgen turned tail and fled, which left only...

"Velene!"

Thenysil looked round, to see Velene on her knees stabbing an Orc, again and again. Thenysil rushed over and put a hand on Velene's shoulder. Velene glared at her.

"We're leaving," said Thenysil.

"Place is still crawling with the filth."

"Something to do another day," said Thenysil. "Move!"

They found it hard to evade all the Orcs that now came swarming round to get them. They were forced to fight small groups of Orcs that spotted them, and while the groups themselves were not a major threat, they slowed them down when their hope was in a speedy exit. Finally, they huddled by the water, lying flat on their stomachs as Orc patrols moved back and forth. They could see the trees, and their welcoming shadows where they could hide, but several patrols were in the way.

"They're going to find us if we don't move," said Thenysil.

"Good," said Velene.

"Not good," said Raene. "I've got a town to protect. So do you. She who fights and runs away..."

"I'll take enough of them with me," said Velene.

Ariciel looked round. "I did not agree to come on a bloody one-way trip, Miss Starstrike. I've got stuff to do. Now what we need is a diversion."

Ellandriel looked over her shoulder. The water of the lake was still as a mirror. She touched Raene's shoulder.

"Lady? Do water spirits still dwell in that lake?"

"Sure. I've sent a few volunteers down here to take out the befouled ones, but this lake is deep. We'll have a job cleaning this up when we take back the Refuge."

"If that be the case, I may be able to do something. But it will take all of my mana, and I will be helpless afterwards. We will need to move quickly."

"You can ride one of my children," said Luara. "They will take you swiftly."

"Very well. Thank you, Lady Luara."

Ellandriel stood up, her dark robes worryingly visible against the reflection of the moon in the lake. She closed her eyes, gathering up her powers. Then she raised her staff in one hand. Her other hand pointed at the water. There was the noise of flame, then a hiss as a concentrated bolt of heat broke the surface. Ellandriel kept firing, shaking with the effort. Her hand gripped her staff with white knuckles. Her eyes narrowed, and her teeth showed as she fired shot after shot into the lake, ripples slowly sliding over the surface. Finally, she raised her staff, and with a gasp, struck it down on the ground. Ariciel watched her sway on her legs and jumped up to catch her. Velene looked round, then sneered at Ellandriel.

"Well, that didn't work. Let's fight our way through."

"Shut up," said Ariciel. She looked into Ellandriel's eyes. "You alright?"

There was a little smile on Ellandriel's face.

" _D'abord, il faut faire bouillir de l'eau._ "

"Huh?"

At that moment, the whole of the lake leapt a hundred feet into the air, with great clouds of steam. Monstrous figures rose to the surface, fists raised, seething, looking for living creatures to kill. Velene stared, mouth open.

"The crazy bitch has aggroed every bloody water elemental in the lake!"

Ellandriel looked at Velene with a thousand-mile stare. "Do you think this would be a good time to leave?"

" _Run_!" 

* * *

The first hint of dawn was in the sky when they came riding through the South gate of Astranaar. Only the guards noticed them as they passed silently through town. Luara, Ariciel and Ellandriel rode to the North of town where Luara's house was. Ellandriel got off the large saber tiger and scratched her between the ears.

"Thank you for carrying me, my friend."

The cat gently head-butted her. These were not the magical constructs that other hunters worked with, the echoes of animals that once were. These cats were real, living creatures. Luara took exception to the term 'tamed'. She had befriended them, adopted them as her own, and poured her love into these creatures, until their very souls were part of each other. Luara walked into the back of the house carrying a large knife and returned a few moments later with the hind leg of a deer. Ellandriel swallowed. She was a Night-elf, and Elves are not as far removed from nature as city-dwelling humans, but still, this was a bit... organic to her taste. Ariciel, of course, wasn't bothered at all. She walked in carrying a bucket of water. The cats started on their meal, each pulling at an end of the leg. Luara wiped her hands on a bit of cloth, and grinned at Ariciel and Ellandriel.

"Can I get you anything?"

Ellandriel looked at Ariciel, who luckily shook her head. "We really ought to get back to the tavern." 

 

Ariciel and Ellandriel walked to the inn. Ellandriel looked round.

"Where are Stetson and Mareva?"

"Somewhere safely out of earshot," said Ariciel dryly. "They don't need our help."

"Ah."

As they entered the inn, they saw Thenysil sitting on one of the wooden benches. Velene was in her arms, head resting on Thenysil's shoulder. Her body was shaking in uncontrollable sobs. Raene was sitting on her other side, hand gently stroking her short green hair. Velene's war-glaive, dark blood still on it, lay on the floor at her feet.

Ellandriel stood still, looking at them, until Ariciel gave her shoulder a little push and they walked up the stairs to their room.

"What is wrong with her?" said Ellandriel.

Ariciel sighed. "She's just learnt that you can't defend your friends when they're already dead. Poor girl."

"What do you mean? Of course you can't."

They stepped into the room and closed the door behind them. Ariciel sat down on the bed, and kicked off her boots.

"You know that by figuring it out," said Ariciel. "I know it from experience. I've been where she is now. I've suffered loss, and taken revenge just like her. It doesn't help."

"It doesn't bring them back," said Ellandriel. She looked round the room. Only one bed.

"No," said Ariciel. "And then you think, but at least these Orcs won't hurt anyone else. And then you realise that there's thousands of Orcs, hurting people, and you can't ever kill them all. And then you think that you've shown them that there's a price to pay for hurting the ones you love, until you realise that they don't care. And then, there's just the truth that they killed someone you love, and you can never see her again. And then, you hope that Elune grants you the blessing of friends, who love you."

Ellandriel looked at Ariciel. "Sentinels Thenysil, and Velene, Raene. Are they... together?"

Ariciel shook her head. "Thenysil has someone in Darnassus. Nice guy, sells tailoring goods. I carried the odd message for them when I worked here for Bearwalker. Raene doesn't have anyone, though I've seen her pick up the occasional stranger." She rolled back on the bed, kicking her reinforced leather trousers off, and laughing. "Her pickup line is 'You. Come to my bedroom.' Never fails."

"I can see why. She is very attractive." Ellandriel leaned her staff against the wall, took off her robes and her light blue shirt. Now where was she going to sleep?

"Yeah." Ariciel paused, looking sadly at the chest armour in her hands. "Sentinel Velene, I don't know her as well. Haven't been to Silverwind all that often. Still. Whoever she was with, probably didn't make it out of there alive."

"So she wanted her revenge." Ellandriel took a decision. "You have the bed. I'll take the chair." The chair looked very comfortable. There was probably a blanket around here somewhere.

"Don't be silly," said Ariciel. "This is a double."

"Um," said Ellandriel.

Ariciel looked at the High-borne mage, standing in the middle of the room in her underwear, rubbing her right arm with her left, a slightly worried look on her face.

"Come on," said Ariciel, "Get in. I don't go where I'm not wanted. Honest."

"That's not..." said Ellandriel, and fell silent. She pulled up the blanket and got in. Ariciel lay back, with her hands behind her head.

"Poor Velene," said Ariciel. "She's not stupid. She knows that it won't make a damn bit of difference how many Orcs she kills there. But..."

Ellandriel looked at Ariciel, saying nothing.

"When you're taking your revenge," said Ariciel, eyes miles away. "There's a moment. Just one moment. Right in the middle of the fight, when you are killing your enemies, and there's nothing that can stop you, nothing that you care about. May the gods grant that you never have such a moment, but it is the best feeling you can have." 


	21. Scars on the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to say goodbye to the Sentinels in Astranaar. Time for the final leg of the journey, to Darnassus, on the World-tree Teldrassil. Which isn’t to say that we couldn’t make a slight detour or two, to revisit some old memories. Or to meet people long missing, presumed to be dead.

Ariciel woke up, for a few moments thinking she had grown a third arm, then realising Ellandriel had rolled over in her sleep and her arm had flopped over. Ariciel looked at it. Her hands were soft, not used to hard work, like sweeping floors, or wielding weapons. Her arm was thinner than Ariciel's own well-muscled arm. The scars from the fights she had been in had not disappeared yet. They would, with time. Night-elf skin does not keep the bad memories the way Human skin does. Not unless the memories are too bad to flow away on the waters of time. Ellandriel was about as tall as Lesta had been, her girlfriend in Ameth'aran, then on Teldrassil for only a single night before... Ariciel closed her eyes, forcing her mind away from that particular dark place. She thought instead of their time in Ameth'aran. She had been with Orin, who was a huntsman and a carpenter. He was the best man a girl could hope for, but she'd wanted to drink as well as eat. Lesta had sold wildflowers to the High-borne in the Manor. Why the High-borne, who were rich enough to afford the finest roses or orchids, would have only those flowers in their home, Ariciel had never understood until now. The High-borne were not allowed out. Their Manor had been a beautifully crafted, luxurious, expensive prison. The only thing they could do was try to bring some small pieces of the outside in.

Ariciel had been very glad they did. She'd noticed Lesta walking round, putting flowers in vases. Tall, slender, lustrous green hair. Ariciel had always smiled at her when she walked by. She'd always smiled back, and continued on her way. One day, there had been a crash behind Ariciel and an annoyed voice. Lesta had never told her whether she dropped that bucket of flowers on purpose, or not. In any case, Ariciel had been quick to fetch a mop and bucket, then dragged her heels mopping up the water, looking at Lesta picking up the flowers. Finally, there wasn't a drop or shine of water left on the floor, and only a single broken flower lay on the ground. Lesta had bent over right in front of Ariciel to pick it up, and in a spirit of 'Now or never', Ariciel had reached out and put her hand on Lesta's bottom. Ariciel could still recall every detail. How Lesta had stopped moving completely for a moment. How her hair had flowed as she looked over her shoulder. The way the incredulous look on her face had changed into _that_ smile. Her words.

"Don't do that, unless you _really_ mean it."

Ariciel laughed quietly, recalling the play she'd made. I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me, I've never done that before, I've never... wanted to.

Lesta had simply looked at her, believing every word she said even though she knew perfectly well nothing of it was true. Then, she'd broken the stem off the flower, and put it in Ariciel's hair. When Ariciel had put the mop and the bucket back in the cupboard, she'd found that Lesta, whose name she didn't even know at the time, had followed her. Her body was pressed into Ariciel's back, because there was so little room in the broom cupboard. Her arms were round Ariciel, firmly, just in case Ariciel's knees might give out at some point. Lesta's breath was on her face and her tongue slowly traced the underside of her ear to the very tip.

Strangely, how they got from that cupboard to a place in the stables where they wouldn't be disturbed for a while, she could not recall at all. Everything that happened after... perfectly. 

 

Ellandriel's breath quickened, and her legs started to move. Words came from her lips.

"Shan'do... no."

Ariciel looked round, touched her arm, and Ellandriel woke up, startled, a scared look on her face from her dream, then a slightly different look that realised that here she was, cuddled up to a woman she had not intended to cuddle up to, and any unintentional cuddling might well be taken in entirely the wrong spirit. Ellandriel took her arm away, and sat up.

"Pardon me," said Ellandriel. "I..."

"Good morning," said Ariciel. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, I... Yes."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Maliynn does a gorgeous cooked breakfast, and Nantar's _baguettes_ , you have to taste to believe it." 

 

They arrived downstairs to find Stetson and Mareva already there, demolishing breakfast. Mareva beamed at them.

"Good morning. It is a wonderful day for flying. Has everyone had a good night?"

Stetson concentrated on his breakfast, and apart from a sudden aura of smugness, declined to comment.

Ariciel laughed. "Not as good as yours, I'll bet."

Mareva pulled back a chair for Ellandriel and leaned over to her as she sat down. "I cannot believe that. Two _gorgeous_ Night-elves, alone together for the first time? After an exciting evening, filled with the thrill of danger?"

Ellandriel, not quite sure what took her all of a sudden, gave Mareva a smouldering look.

"Yes! I admit it! Ariciel and I slept together." Ellandriel put a hand on Mareva's arm. "Can you forgive me?"

"Sleeping with her? Easily. Not letting me watch? Never."

"How am I ever going to enjoy mere sex again after _this_ ," whispered Ariciel, slumping back in her chair.

Ellandriel's eyes gleamed at Mareva. "If you so desire, I can describe for you what happened."

"Please do," said Mareva. "And do not leave out even the slightest detail."

"Only if you describe everything about _your_ night," said Ellandriel.

"Agreed," said Mareva, with a big grin.

Stetson choked on his tea, and Ariciel had to slap his back.

"I fell asleep," said Ellandriel.

"That is _all_?"

"I am afraid so. I was exhausted from a night of spellcasting. I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow." Ellandriel smiled smugly at Mareva. "How was _your_ night?"

Ariciel tapped Ellandriel's shoulder. "You are trying to embarrass an illustrious grand master of depravity. Just saying."

"Quite," said Mareva. "First, we found shelter in one of the burnt-out houses. Personally, I would have been quite happy to do it under the stars, but there was a bed undamaged by the fire. Hunter S'dezo'houn was most eager to-"

Stetson got to his hooves, kicking back his chair. "By the Naaru! Is _that_ the time? We must be on our way. History waits for no-one. Great deeds await us."

"Oi! I haven't had any breakfast yet." Ariciel waved at Maliynn, who had already prepared what Ariciel normally had, and approached the table with a plate full of egg, beans, fried bread and steaming dead pig. Ariciel started on her breakfast, making noises normally associated with other pleasures.

"Anything for you, Miss?" asked Maliynn.

"I will have what she is having," said Ellandriel. 

* * *

Sentinel Thenysil came walking out of her house, towards Ariciel and her friends, who were getting ready to leave. Ellandriel was behind Mareva, rummaging in Mareva's backpack for the map so she wouldn't have to take it off again. Stetson sat waiting for them, eyes closed, enjoying the sunshine.

"Elune a'dore," said Thenysil. "And thank you again for your help last night. Last night's work would have been a lot more difficult without you."

"My pleasure," said Ariciel. "How's Sentinel Starstrike?"

"Returned to Stardust Spire. She sends her greetings."

"Hm. I hope it brought her some peace."

Thenysil looked to the West. "She was going to go alone. She would have died there if we hadn't come along. She might not care if _she_ came out alive, but she does care about us. And about you, despite appearances."

"She's a Sentinel," said Ariciel. "May Elune light her path."

Thenysil held out her hand to Ariciel. Ariciel took it. There was a small scrap of paper, which Ariciel put in her pocket. Thenysil looked away.

"You're going to Darnassus. There's a mail blackout on. Please, just tell him I'm alright."

"I will."

As they looked round, wondering if they'd forgotten anything, Luara walked up, together with Raene Wolfrunner. Raene shook hands with Stetson.

"It was a pleasure to run with you, Mr. Stetson. Should you ever come across another one of those crossbows, especially with an _illegal_ scope, I will outbid anyone for it."

"I will keep that in mind, Huntress Raene. I am certain you will use it to devastating effect." 

 

Ellandriel turned round to see Raene Wolfrunner standing next to her.

"Miss Ellandriel, I wanted to thank you specially. You saved Velene's life last night."

"We all saved each other's life, Lady Raene. You watched over me, and I thank you."

"Velene went to Silverwind Refuge last night to die. She lost everyone she loved at Silverwind. Velene would have been quite happy to give herself to the Orcs, to die protecting us from them." There was a melancholy smile on Raene's face. "But _not_ from a bunch of mindless water elementals. You did precisely the only thing anyone could have done to bring Velene back alive. Thank you." 

 

When they had all said their goodbyes, they summoned their gryphons, and with a final wave, they took to the skies. Ariciel flew in front. A grim look was on her face. Mareva caught up with her, waving her compass.

"You need to turn a little bit to the North."

Ariciel shook her head. Mareva gave her a look.

"Sentinel Thenysil said there was nothing left in Auberdine."

"I know," said Ariciel, not changing her course in the slightest.

"Why are you making for Auberdine?"

"To see what's there," said Ariciel. "Even if it's only ghosts and ruins."

"That is not wise," said Mareva.

"No. It isn't," said Ariciel.

"But still, you are going there."

"Yes."

"That is stupid and dangerous."

"I'm not asking anyone to come along. Wait for me in Lor'danel if you want."

Mareva gave Ariciel a long hard look. "You are my friend. I will not abandon you. You know that as well as I do."

"I _have_ to see it, Mareva. There were people there I know. I met you there for the first time. Do you remember that kimchi pie?"

"I do," said Mareva. "The first real food in an eternity."

"I told you that nobody makes them like Allyndia, even if they have the recipe. There's no secret ingredient. It's _her_."

"What would it help simply to stare at broken buildings? And it may be dangerous."

"So is this," said Ariciel. She jumped out off the saddle and her gryphon disappeared into thin air. Ariciel fell down, arms wide, and changed into her flight form, She flapped her wings a few times for altitude and speed, and flew off to the North-west. Mareva looked after her.

"Sometimes, my friend, I wonder why I like you so much. I really do." 

* * *

Ariciel stood on a small hill, by a crevasse that hadn't been there a month ago. A month ago, when Auberdine was still there. The very earth on which it had stood, was broken. Buildings were torn apart. A large strip of forest had blackened into nothing but charred stumps from the Dragon's breath. There was movement between the buildings, but no Elves. There was nobody left. The Moonwell had been breached, its life-giving water spilled away. There was the noise of feathers behind her, but Ariciel did not look round until Mareva put her hand on Ariciel's shoulder.

"Really, Ariciel. What are we doing here?"

Ariciel pointed. "That's where we met. We were both going to Felwood. One of the best things that ever happened to me." She pointed again. "That's where Fiora Longears' house used to be. I... We found Lesta there, tortured to death by that Warlock bitch. One of the worst things that ever happened to me. I _am_ this place, Mareva. And now, it's gone."

Mareva stood in front of Ariciel, put her hands on her shoulders.

"You are _you_. You are my friend. Strong, and kind, and silly, and stupid, and brave, and understanding."

Ariciel gave Mareva a long look. Then, some of the shine returned to her eyes.

"And sexy?"

"Of course."

Ariciel pulled Mareva to her in a tight hug. They stood like that for a while, then Ariciel whispered.

"Thank you."

"Have you seen what you needed to see?"

Ariciel sighed, nodded.

"Then let us join the others in Lor'danel, before they come looking for us here." 

 

They were on the wing again. They flew close together, so they could talk if they wanted to, though at the moment, they didn't. The wings of their gryphons beat in a steady rhythm, and the damaged lands of Darkshore rolled underneath them, broken, battered, but still green and growing, testament to the Light Everlasting. Death might come to all things living, but while there is life, we want it, to its very last breath. Mareva looked up. Something had drawn her attention, but what? Looking round, she spotted it. Ah. She pointed.

"What is _that_?"

Ariciel rose in her stirrups, gently rocking with the movement of her griffin as she looked into the distance.

"That's a Druidic spell. It's called 'Cyclone'. You use it to put people out of action for a while. But that one is... a thousand times bigger than any I can manage."

They hovered in place for a while, watching the enormous whirlwind. Trees had been uprooted and turned round and round in the air.

"Another side trip, I'm afraid. I _have_ to know whether this is friend or foe."

"After you," said Mareva, spurring on her gryphon.

They stayed close to the treetops, to avoid being sucked into the whirlwind. Finally, they came to the hill that seemed to be the whirlwind's focus. They landed, dismounted, and slowly walked up to the top of the hill. The noise was deafening, creaking of wood, howling wind, debris from the ground grinding. They carefully peered over the lip of the hill. As they looked, Ariciel grabbed Mareva's arm, and gripped it, tighter and tighter, till Mareva pulled at her wrist. The noise was too loud to talk, so she simply raised her hands and shrugged. What?

Ariciel jumped over the edge of the hill, walked up to the figure in the eye of the cyclone, and went down on one knee in front of him. Mareva's jaw dropped. In all the time they had been together, she had _never_ seen her do that. In front of Ariciel was... well, a Night-elf, except that Mareva had never known a Night-elf to have a stag's horns, a bear's feet, nor feathers on their arms, though those could be simply ornamental feathers on his clothes. He had long green hair and a long beard, over a bare chest. Within the eye of the cyclone, the air was perfectly still, and Mareva could hear the man speaking to Ariciel in Darnassian. Ariciel rose, and for the first time since Mareva had known her, spoke in Darnassian.

"Shan'do Malfurion. _Vous êtes lá_."

"Yes, I am," said Malfurion Stormrage, using the Common Speech. "I have woken from a long slumber, filled with dreams both sweet and ill, and now I have returned. The stench of evil is on the air. I am needed."

"Deathwing has returned," said Ariciel.

"Yes. Neltharion, Aspect of the Black Dragonflight, wishes to plunge this world into an aeon of darkness. But as long as I draw breath, he will not prevail."

Mareva bowed her head. "Why are you making this cyclone?"

Malfurion looked at Mareva. Mareva noted that where Ariciel's eyes, and those of any other Night-elf she had ever known, glowed silver, Malfurion's eyes had a golden glow.

"I am not making it. I am _containing_ it." Malfurion looked up. "One brave adventurer is up there, combating the forces of the Twilight Cult together with the Emerald Dragon Thessera."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" asked Ariciel.

Malfurion shook his head. "The winds would tear you to shreds. Only a Dragon can survive in the cyclone."

"Then what would you have us do?"

Malfurion's bushy eyebrows knotted as he concentrated on renewing his holding spell.

"Go to Lor'danel, then go to Darnassus. Much suffering has been caused by the onslaught of Deathwing. They need all the help they can get." 

 

Malfurion Stormrage watched two gryphons disappear to the North. On the one hand, their offers of help were commendable. On the other hand, did the fools not grasp that he was _busy_? At that moment, he felt the forces of the portal diminish. A great crash was heard above, and the cyclone dispersed. The green Dragon Thessera came hurtling down, pulled up just in time and performed a not entirely dignified belly flop. Her rider jumped off and bowed to Malfurion.

"I can report, Sir, that the portal is destroyed, and that the Cultists have been scattered to the four winds." The Gnome looked up at Malfurion with a sardonic look in his deep dark eyes. "That not all of their limbs were scattered to the _same_ wind is merely a detail."

Malfurion Stormrage only nodded. He had no particular reason to dislike Gnomes, but he did have a very good reason to dislike Warlocks and anyone who dealt with Daemons.

"Now, Sir, If you don't mind, I'll continue on to Un'goro Crater. I need to replenish my store of crystals. Current events nonewithstanding, people will still need hot water."

"Thank you, Mr. Steambender," said Malfurion. 

* * *

"I never would have expected that of you, that is all."

"Expected what?"

"For you to bow before _anyone_. You do not respond well to authority."

"Oh come on. This is _Malfurion_ _Stormrage_! He's the very first Druid! What would you do if you stood before the very first Draenei Shaman?"

"I would say 'Greetings Teacher'," said Mareva smugly. "You have met him. Farseer Nobundo was the first of the Draenei to find the path of the Elements."

"Really? He seems so..." Ariciel waved a hand.

"Broken?" Mareva looked at her hands. "He has had to sacrifice much to become what he is now. Or rather, it was taken from him."

Ariciel raised herself up in the saddle, looking ahead for the rooftops of Lor'danel. She sat down again, looking at Mareva flying beside her, deep in thought.

Mareva stirred. "I wonder about Ellandriel. Who was the first High-borne Mage?"

Ariciel sucked her teeth. "I suppose that would be Queen Azshara. She's the one who wanted to marry a Titan, opened the door for him, had it slammed closed by Malfurion Stormrage, and then the whole world blew up."

Mareva laughed. "Of course, you simplify it a bit."

"Just a bit." Ariciel gave Mareva a look. "Not everybody in Darnassus is going to like Ellandriel. Memories run deep."

"As if we do not have enough to worry about." 

 

Lor'danel came into view, and Ariciel and Mareva set down on the landing platform, where a new hippogryph tender now did Caylais Moonfeather's job. Her name was Teldira, and she looked so much like Caylais that they must be related. They didn't feel like asking. Ellandriel and Stetson were waiting for them. Mareva and Stetson made a sickening spectacle of themselves asking and reassuring each other that they had counted the minutes they had been apart. Ariciel had the vague suspicion that they were doing it on purpose just to wind her or Ellandriel up. Ellandriel was leaning on the railing of the flight platform, looking to the Northwest, where you could just see the crown of Teldrassil in the distance. Her destination. Ariciel put her hand on Ellandriel's shoulder.

"Ready?"

Ellandriel took a deep breath, then nodded. They all summoned their flying mounts and set off across the strait to where they could see Teldrassil's branches reach up into the heavens. Ariciel flew in front, making for the foot of the tree, where the portal was. Stetson and Mareva flew behind, with Ellandriel in the middle between them. They stayed just high enough to dodge anything attacking from below the sea. They touched down near what was left of Rut'theran Village. There had been a tidal wave, and though Teldrassil itself had shielded most of the village, many of the buildings had been washed away. The people of Rut'theran had been quick to rebuild a dock, since they were now the closest Night-elf port to Darkshore. The ships had been re-routed and repair of the buildings had already begun.

Ellandriel, though, saw nothing of this. She stood stock still, staring up at the enormous wall that was the trunk of Teldrassil, looking for the first time at the new home of the Night-elves with more than her eyes, more than her magical senses, more than the knowledge from the hastily-penned scrolls that had made their slow way into Eldre'thalas to be read, discussed and learnt by her and her fellow students. Teldrassil spoke to her in an unworldly voice that did not need ears or mind-speech, but went straight for the heart. She closed her eyes, bowed her head. A single tear trickled down her cheek. She looked up to see Ariciel and Mareva standing next to her. Ellandriel blinked, drew her sleeve across her face.

"Where do we go now?"

Mareva pointed. "If you wish to see the whole tree, you can take the flight up. Or you can go through the portal."

"Let us take the portal."

Ellandriel stepped through the portal, followed by Ariciel, Stetson and Mareva. She took a few steps forward, then turned to the others.

"My friends, here I must leave you. I need not tell you that it is death for the High-borne to come here, and I would not see you suffer by being associated with me. I thank you for all you have done for me."

"Don't be silly, woman," said Ariciel. "Do you really think we'd leave you now? I'll bet you don't even know where the Temple of the Moon is."

Ellandriel sniffed, then pointed at the largest building.

"Pah. Lucky guess," said Ariciel. "Come on. We'll take you there."

They walked over the bridges, to the path leading up to the Temple. Music sounded from within, the sad, sweet voices of the Darnassus Temple Choir singing a lament for those fallen at Auberdine. Ariciel stood still a few moments, listening.

"Lirael's here," she said, brightening up. "Let's go meet her."

They walked up to the entrance, and inside. No fierce sentinels rushed at them to slay this impudent High-borne mage daring to defile this most sacred place of Elvendom with her presence. Ellandriel seemed to shrink. Mareva put her hand on her shoulder. Ariciel stood on her other side. Stetson was behind her, a large, comforting presence. Stetson's cat Morgan gently pushed his big head into her thigh. They stood still, listening to the Choir, conducted by Priestess Jandria. The hymn finished, and after a few moments silence, another priestess led the congregation in prayer. The service ended, and Ariciel waved at her friend in the Choir. When Lirael saw them, she came walking up with a big grin on her face.

"Oh thank Elune, you are alright! I was so worried after what happened. I'm so glad to see you." Lirael's eye fell on Ellandriel. "Pardon me, I don't think we've met. My name is Lirael. Welcome to the Moon Temple."

"Thank you, Lady. My name is Ellandriel of..." she fell silent, not wanting the problems to start just yet.

"When did you get here?"

"Just now," said Ariciel. "I haven't even been home yet."

"Let me finish up here, and I'll meet you at the entrance. It's time for lunch, so I'll take you to Saelienne's, my treat."

Ellandriel looked at Lirael. "An it please you, Lady, I am looking for one named Mordent Evenshade. My business is urgent. Would you happen to know where he is?"

In a flash, the smile left Lirael's face, and it became hard as stone.

"Mordent Evenshade. _Archmage_ Mordent Evenshade."

"Yes, Lady."

"What do you want with a High-borne Archmage?"

Ellandriel looked at her feet. "I have urgent tidings for him. Information that may be vital to the survival of Elvendom in Azeroth."

"You are High-borne."

"Yes, Lady. I am Ellandriel of the Shen'dralar. I carry news of the return of Neltharion."

Lirael looked to the south, then back at Ellandriel.

"We already know," she said.

Ariciel took a step forward and touched Lirael's shoulder, looking into her eyes. "Lirael, Ellandriel's alright. She's got information that could help us fight Deathwing. She's a friend."

"She is the reason I don't have grandparents," said Lirael, coldly. "They died when the High-borne ripped Kalimdor to pieces."

Mareva shook her head. "I very much doubt Miss Ellandriel is responsible for that. All that happened long before she was born."

"She's High-borne," said Lirael. "None of them are _allowed_ to be younger than ten thousand years."

"That is true, Lady." Ellandriel looked up into Lirael's eyes. "Yet, here I am."

Lirael held Ellandriel's gaze for a few moments. Some older Night-elves, for reasons of their own, did not change the clan markings on their faces as they grew older, settling for a design that did not show their age. Sometimes, the ancient ones simply allowed them to fade with the years, which usually meant that they no longer considered themselves to be part of their birth community. Ellandriel wore the markings of a fifty-year-old girl from the inlands of Darkshore. East Ashenvale, Felwood, or even Feralas. They looked fresh, as though she had received them only a few years ago. It was physically possible to put young markings on an old face. Most skin-artists wouldn't betray their honour by doing that, but a disguise was a disguise. Lirael looked at Ellandriel's eyes instead. The eyes that looked back at Lirael had seen suffering, but had not yet found the tranquility that comes from a hundred centuries of living. That look in the eyes was impossible to hide, and impossible to pretend. There was no other possibility. Ellandriel was a _young_ High-borne woman. Which meant it would be unfair to blame her for the crimes of her kind, even if those crimes included giving birth to her.

" _Née sans permis_ ," said Lirael.

"You may be the reason I do not have parents," said Ellandriel.

"Mordent Evenshade moved to the Howling Oak, after his audience with Tyrande Whisperwind. You will find him there."

Ariciel frowned. "Howling Oak? Where's that? Have they built another tavern while I was away?"

"I'm not trying to send her on a wild goose chase, you silly girl. The Howling Oak is a new tree dwelling they planted across the pond from my place. It blocks my view of the lake and it's full of big hairy Gilneans."

"Worgen? We met one in Astranaar."

"They're all over the place," said Lirael. "Refugees from Gilneas. They've been having trouble with the Forsaken there."

Mareva sighed. "The world is really turning into a great big pile of elekk dung."

"Let me change out of my choir robes, and I'll take you to the Howling Oak. Perhaps your new friend has found a way of spiriting away Dragons and Undead." 

 

The Howling Oak was a new addition to Darnassus. It wasn't really an oak, but one of the fast-growing trees the Night-elves would plant when they needed to keep soil from eroding, or in this case, if they needed quick shelter. None of the Gilneans would ever tell the difference. With the help of the many wisps that floated about in Darnassus, they had grown it in a month. Inspired by the spirit of artistry, they had redirected a stream round it, and created a path of stones leading to the entrance. Inside was a group of Humans, Worgen, and even the occasional Night-elf. Ellandriel looked round. Her eyes fell on a tall, white-haired Night-elf man wearing a dark blue coat. She walked up to him.

"Archmage Mordent Evenshade?"

The Mage shook himself out of gloomy thoughts, and looked at Ellandriel.

"Yes. How may I help you?"

"I bear news from Daros Moonlance," said Ellandriel, opening her pack. "I hope that I am not overly late in bringing it to you."

Mordent Evenshade accepted the book, turning it over in his hands before opening it and gazing at it.

"Another volume of Daros' meticulous writings," said Evenshade. "Thank you, young lady, for bringing it to me. I think it will be as useful as the others that adventurers have brought to me."

Ellandriel gave a small nod, noting precisely the thing that the Mage had _not_ said. With a private smile, she thought that something of Engineer Mareva must be rubbing off on her. Mordent Evenshade put the book on a small stack of nearly identical volumes on a table beside him, then turned back to Ellandriel.

"Do I recognise in your voice the speech of Eldre'thalas?"

"Yes, Archmage. I don't think we ever met there, though."

"I was a recluse inside a recluse's cave. I'm afraid I did not have my fair share in teaching our young. There were few enough of you anyway."

"We are forbidden children," said Ellandriel. "We are not wanted by anyone."

Mordent Evenshade shook his head. He put one hand on Ellandriel's shoulder, and gently touched the lines tattooed on her face with his other.

"Not so. Your coming here is a greater gift to me than all of Daros Moonlance's witterings put together. Do you intend to stay here?"

"I do not know. Teldrassil feels like home to me, but the Keldorei do not seem to want me here."

"They don't. The young ones have learnt from the old to loathe the very name of the High-borne. One of the Sentinels offered to slice my throat for me when first I arrived. She could not have been more than a hundred and thirty years old. Luckily, we stood on holy ground, or it would have gone ill with me."

Ellandriel rubbed her cheek. "Maybe I should leave, and try my luck in a Human settlement instead. Shan'do only told me to bring you the book. What to do afterwards, I do not know."

"You are a student of the Arcane. What is your specialisation?"

"Yes, Sir. I am a fire mage." Ellandriel smiled. "Druid Ariciel called me 'our friendly firestarter'."

"You have befriended a Druid? That is a great gift."

"It is her gift to me," said Ellandriel. "I am very grateful to her, and to my Draenei friends."

"Draenei as well? Are you sure I could not persuade you to stay here? I could help you with your studies of the Arcane."

Ellandriel looked at her feet. "I am not sure I am ready for a new teacher. My teacher died defending me from a Fel Reaver in Outland."

"May I see your collection of spells?"

Ellandriel held out her hand. Mordent took it. He frowned.

"Only fire spells and the occasional utility spell?"

"Yes. I told you I am a fire mage," said Ellandriel, somewhat defensively. Her teacher had been more dear to her than she realised.

Mordent stroked his beard, thinking. Then, he suddenly grinned.

"I think I know who your teacher was." He bent over to Ellandriel and whispered in her ear. "Am I right?"

"The Red?"

"That's right. Firepower that was the envy of everyone, but hardly subtle. A quality I recognise in the spells you have learnt. I can help you round out your repertoire. Think about it. You'll be able to do this."

Mordent concentrated, and faded from sight. His voice came from nowhere.

"Or perhaps this."

Mordent re-appeared, and was suddenly encased in an ice block.

"Nothing can hurt you like this for a minute. Gives your friends time to come to your aid."

Ellandriel rubbed her arm, the memory of pain on her.

"That would be useful. May I have some time to think about it?"

Mordent's ice block disappeared, and he laughed.

"Think about it as long as you like. But please stay." 

* * *

"Mistress Jandria? May I have a word?"

Jandria turned round to look at Lirael. "Sure. Something bothering you?"

"Yes. It's this High-borne woman."

"The one I saw talking to your Druid friend and the Draenei? What about her?"

"I don't like her."

"That worries you? It would be hard to find anyone on this treetop who does. Lots of old grievances."

"Ariciel seems to like her. Also, she's only fifty. Only twenty-five years younger than I am. The Sundering is as far away from her as it is from me."

Jandria sat down on one of the small walls in the Moon Temple. Lirael sat down next to her, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

"Was she rude to you?"

"No," said Lirael.

"Arrogant?"

"No. She was more polite to me than I was to her. If she'd been a Priestess or a Druid, I might have liked her. But she's a Mage. An Arcanist. A High-borne."

"Do you have the same dislike for Elissa Dumas? She's an Arcanist."

"She's Human. I sang at her wedding."

"So why do you have this dislike for... what's her name?"

"Ellandriel," said Lirael. "Ellandriel of the Shen'dalar. I don't _know_. It's just that she is a High-borne, and the High-borne slaughered thousands upon thousands of people. I never even _knew_ my grandparents, and still I hate her for killing them. And she's _fifty_!"

"Prejudice," said Jandria.

Lirael nodded sadly. "I thought I didn't have it in me. But I do."

"Bloody High-borne. Always making you prejudiced against them. They should go back into exile, the lot of them."

Lirael looked up at Jandria, who looked back at her with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Well, there's a cure," said Jandria. "Go spend some time with her. She's probably not very popular. She might like some company." 

 

Lirael found Ellandriel sitting on the side of the lake, next to a bridge, staring at the setting sun reflected in the water. Her staff lay over her knees.

"Hi. This is a lousy fishing spot. I know a much better one."

Ellandriel looked up. "Lady Lirael."

Lirael sat down next to Ellandriel. "I am sorry for being rude to you earlier."

Ellandriel said nothing.

"Do you have a place to stay the night yet?"

"We are all sleeping in Druid Ariciel's house," said Ellandriel.

"The four of you? My goodness. If it gets too crowded, I have a spare bed."

"I will mention that."

Lirael stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back on her hands. The sky turned to fiery reds and purples. Lirael looked at Ellandriel, who was looking at the small waves that slowly rose and fell at the edge of the water.

"When I was only four years old," said Lirael, "I was running too fast for my feet, and fell over. That was in Feralas, under the shadow of the Twin Colossals. A kind woman heard me cry, and walked over to me. She wiped the dirt off my knee, and held her hand over it, and the Light flowed, and my knee was healed. Then she held me to her, and told me that everything would be alright, and to go find an elder. So I did."

Ellandriel said nothing.

"Then later, while we were having dinner, there was a big commotion, and all the children were told to go outside and see, and I saw the nice lady riding at the front of a line of soldiers, and priestesses, followed by _bears_ , heading north into Desolace. So I pointed at the head of the line of fighters, and told everyone that that was the woman who healed my knee. And then my elder clipped me round the ear for telling tales."

Lirael sat up, and put her arms round her knees.

"That woman was Tyrande Whisperwind. Nobody believed me. But I'd seen her hand over my knee, taking away the pain, and felt her arms round me to take away the fright. As long as I'll live, I'll never forget that. That's what made me want to be a priestess. Elune must have blessed me with her gift then."

Ellandriel looked up at Lirael, still keeping her silence.

"What made you want to study the Arcane?"

Ellandriel looked at the Sun, slowly making his way to the treetops. She took a deep breath.

"Most of the Shen'dralar children did. There were never many of us, and all of our elders were mages. Only two of my sisters did not choose the path. They both disappeared. We shared Eldre'thalas with Ogres, and we were told that they had been taken for food."

"Were they taken _because_ they chose not to study the Arcane?"

"I think not. One of the novice Arcanists was also taken by... the Ogres. Mages kept the energy flowing. Energy to keep us alive. I wanted to be of use to my fellow Shen'dralar, so I chose to devote myself to the Arcane."

Lirael nodded. Everything Ellandriel had said, seemed to have little loose ends.

"What is it like?"

"There is a ritual. It opens your mind, and attunes your body to the Arcane energies over the time of a week. They give you potions to dull the pain, but you cannot spend the Time of Change in a drunken stupor. There are things that you need to take note of, and you cannot do that while you are asleep."

"That sounds horrible," said Lirael.

"It is," said Ellandriel. "The first stage in the ritual is mainly to overcome doubt, and harden your resolve. It makes you think that you are past the worst."

"But that is a lie, isn't it?"

"Yes. It gets harder as time passes, until the last day. Only then do you know how successful you have been in changing."

"Is it worth it?"

Ellandriel smiled. "People who do not study the Arcane think of it as something dark, and evil, that the world would be better off without. It _is_ the world. The first time I opened my eyes after the ritual, I could finally see everything for what it really was. All the forces in balance, the Light flowing, and then you can put your mind at the right points in the world, and _push_ , so that the balance of the world moves to one end, and then restores itself. When you look at a tree, or a pool of water, if you're lucky, you'll notice how the wind makes it move. An Arcanist will see _everything_. The forces that hold the water together, so that it flows instead of evaporating. The forces that allow a tree to draw water from deep below the Earth, all the way into all its leaves. The... the _mechanics_ of life, of _existence_ itself. The rules that even the Gods must follow. Vast, infinitely complex, infinitely beautiful." Ellandriel looked into Lirael's eyes. "Yes. It is worth every moment of pain. Every single moment." 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter! Next one will be the last! We can see Mareva taking big decisions here, while Ellandriel settles into Keldorei society, though not without a little hitch now and then.

Ariciel walked down the path to her small house to find Stetson sitting on the bench in front of her window, Morgan at his feet. His hand was gently scratching Morgan between his ears, and his pale blue eyes shone as he watched the clouds drifting slowly over the woods of Teldrassil. Mareva was nowhere to be seen.

"Hi Stetson. Why is Mareva not sitting on your lap, and more importantly, where is she?"

Stetson raised his hand, palm up.

"We have a saying among my people. Love, it is like a small bird resting in the palm of your hand. Keep perfectly still, and still it might flutter off for no reason." He made a tight fist. "Grab it quickly, and if you crush it, it will be yours forever."

"My goodness. You haven't buried her in my garden, have you?"

"Of course not. That would be most rude." Stetson pointed. "She said she wanted to think. She went in that direction."

"Think? Uh-oh. I never do that. Only leads to trouble."

"I am hoping it will not." He looked away. "Or perhaps that it will. It depends on one's definition of Trouble."

Ariciel gave Stetson a look. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Yes," said Stetson. "Yes, there is."

Stetson sat back at his ease, and returned to stroking his blue and white striped cat.

"And you're not going to?"

Stetson shook his head.

"Mareva's that way, right? I'll ask her instead. I have _ways_. I am very nosy."

"May you find what you seek." 

 

Mareva sat on a log overlooking the waterfall that flowed over the edge of Teldrasssil's top. The first Night-elf on Teldrassil who had needed a comfortable place to sit and think had lugged it over, as a service to gloomy thinkers.

"Move up," said Ariciel.

Mareva, without a word, moved over a bit and Ariciel sat down next to her. They sat there for a while, saying nothing, looking over a sea that, after the great flood wave, was now once more rippling far below them as it had done for thousands of years.

"Spill," said Ariciel.

Mareva said nothing, and looked far away over the sea. Ariciel put her arm round her shoulder and pulled her closer.

"Spill, or else," said Ariciel.

Mareva rested her head on Ariciel's shoulder.

"Hunter S'dezo'houn has proposed to me."

A big, big grin was on Ariciel's face. She jumped to her feet and raised her arms.

"Yay! Mareva, that's _wonderful_! So _that_ is what he didn't want to say! And in the most romantic city in Azeroth too! Lirael can do the ceremony. You'll look _gorgeous_ in white, purity be bothered. Can I be a bridesmaid? I've always wanted to be a bridesmaid. I've _never_ been a bridesmaid." She looked down on Mareva, who was looking up at her with an amused little smile on her face. "Why are you not bouncing off the walls? You did say yes, didn't you?"

"Not yet," said Mareva.

"You are going to, aren't you?"

Mareva opened her hand, and showed Ariciel what she'd been looking at, a silvery ring with a red stone.

"The last man who proposed to me, is dead now. I used the metal in our wedding rings to make this."

"Looks like a strength ring. Felt like smashing someone's face in, did you?"

"Oh yes, I did," said Mareva, with a grim look. "Up close and personal. I slew about two dozen Blood-elves that day. They were stealing our medical supplies and I got them back, but honestly, that was just an excuse. Unless I managed to precisely eradicate entire families, there are now many Blood-elves out there with a good excuse to kill _me_."

Ariciel tilted her head a bit. "So now you think that everybody who proposes to you is going to die?"

Mareva laughed. "Yes. To love me, is the finger of death. If only I were hideous and ugly."

"I'm still breathing," said Ariciel.

"You have not proposed to me yet," said Mareva.

"Don't need to."

"Accepting S'dezo'houn's proposal would also mean no more naughties for you and me."

Ariciel 's eyes grew large. "Oh my! Quick! Before you accept!" She plonked herself on Mareva's lap and started on the top button of Mareva's blouse. Mareva put her hand on Ariciel's and laughed.

"That would go against the spirit of the agreement, I think."

Ariciel looked into Mareva's eyes and put her hand on her cheek.

"You are going to accept, aren't you? I know I'm good, but I don't think I could make you as happy as Stetson would."

There was a little cough, and Ariciel looked up to see Ellandriel standing a little way off. Ariciel grinned and waved at her.

"Hi! We're about to start making love like wild animals. Want to join in?"

Ellandriel snorted. "You honour me with your invitation, but I have a prior appointment."

Ariciel looked at Mareva. "Can I tell her? Please?"

"Go on then."

"Stetson asked her to marry him!"

Ellandriel nodded slowly. "And to celebrate, you leap into each other's arms. Your alien ways are a mystery to me."

Mareva poked a finger into Ariciel's stomach.

"She makes a valid point. Get off me. I have a Hunter to knock off his hooves."

Ariciel got up. "Go get him, girl!"

Ellandriel and Ariciel watched Mareva run off at a brisk pace. Ariciel looked round.

"So where are you going then?"

"Priestess Lirael has invited me to a place called Dolanaar, to meet one of her friends."

"Feanor? Oh, you'll like him. He's Lirael's brainy friend."

Ellandriel raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to?"

"Her singing friends, of course. You High-borne. Always thinking of the same thing."

"How can I not? In your company, there is always something there to remind me. Well, I must hurry. Lirael is waiting. I'll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon." 

 

Ariciel looked out over the sea. Mareva had gone to make Stetson the happiest hunter in the world, and most likely jump on top of him, Ellandriel was out making friends with her mortal enemies, which left her on her own, with not even a big Human nice and close. No use. No use at all. She turned round towards the Cenarion Circle tree dwelling. Time for a visit to Bearwalker. 

* * *

Lirael lifted the door knocker and let it fall. A few moments later, the door opened and her brainy friend looked at her. Feanor was a tall, thin, dark-skinned Night-elf man. His hair and his beard were bright silver. His eyes shone with a golden hue, which was usually a sign of great Druidic potential, but Feanor was not a Druid.

"Lirael, my flower. This is an unexpected pleasure."

"I hope we're not disturbing you at something important?" Lirael frowned at him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"You know very well that I eat three meals a day to please you," said Feanor. "At the precise appointed times. I had my lunch at precisely ten past noon, because I finished an equation first."

"Slippery slope, my love. I suggest you have your next lunch at ten _to_ mid-day to compensate."

"So I shall. Now if my eating habits are discussed to your satisfaction, who is your charming companion?"

"Feanor, meet Ellandriel. Ellandriel, lore-master Feanor."

Feanor bowed his head at Ellandriel with a smile. "Welcome, Lady Ellandriel."

"An it please you, Sir," said Ellandriel.

Feanor looked at her face, her clothes, her bearing. Then, he gave her a friendly nod. "Please be so good as to enter. Forgive me the state of my home, as I was not expecting visitors."

The door closed behind them. Feanor took their cloaks, put them on pegs, then waved them in.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. May I offer you some tea?"

Lirael sat down on the sofa. "Chamomile and mint, please."

"And for you, Miss Ellandriel?"

Ellandriel sat down on the edge of a chair, her back straight, looking up at Feanor.

"The same, please."

"A few minutes, if you don't mind."

Feanor disappeared into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Ellandriel looked round. They were in a small living room. A pot stove was in the fireplace. The walls were mostly taken up with dark oaken cupboards. On one of the walls was a large still-life of wildflowers, a bowl of apples and grapes, and a copper kettle with a wooden handle. Ellandriel could see a few mistakes in the fall of the light, then noticed Lirael's signature in the bottom right corner. On the mantelpiece were a copper pair of binoculars, a very complicated type of astrolabe and an oil lantern with the wick encased in a tube of metal gauze. Ellandriel had read somewhere that this type of lantern was used in Dwarven mines, to avoid igniting the flammable gases called firedamp.

Feanor walked in carrying three steaming mugs of tea in his hands. He put them down on the table hurriedly, then pushed one of them towards Ellandriel, one towards Lirael. Lirael picked up the mug and leant back on the sofa. Ellandriel sat up with her hands on her knees. Feanor blew on his tea.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, ladies?"

Lirael tried a sip of her tea, but it was too hot yet.

"Ellandriel is new in town. A friend of Ariciel's. She likes books. I remembered you have one, and she might enjoy it."

Feanor gave Lirael a disapproving look. "Well, I haven't finished it yet, so she can't have it."

"Please Sir, do not trouble yourself," said Ellandriel. "I would not wish to impose."

Feanor's eyes glowed brightly at Ellandriel. "I was only joking, my child. Follow me. Bring your tea, or it will be cold when we get back."

Feanor walked to a small key locker, and took out a key to open a door. He pointed a hand, and let Ellandriel in. Her eyes adjusted to the dark in a moment, and she saw... Books. Rows of books. Shelves full of books. The large room was filled with the smell of paper, the quiet buzz of words wanting to leap off the pages into the minds of any visitor. Ellandriel walked forward with quiet, careful steps, hardly daring to breathe as her eyes glided over the titles. Geography. History. Philosophy. Mathematics. The languages of all creatures in Azeroth. Spell books. Religious texts, not only for the followers of Elune, but also on the Old Gods, and the Titans. Ellandriel raised her hand towards the P to Q part of an encyclopedia, then looked back at Feanor. Feanor raised a hand.

"Please do."

Ellandriel carefully took the large volume from the shelf, opened it on a random page: 

X

>   
> _Panda-ren_ : Literally, Panda-people. A mythical species of  
> Humanoids said to have an Ursine appearance, more specifically  
> the subspecies known as the black and white cat-foot. Legend has  
> it that they are masters of brewing many and varied brews of ale,  
> with magical properties such as making the imbiber impervious  
> to fire, frost, or natural damage. Due to the paradox inherent  
> in including alcohol in potions meant to aid spell-casting,  
> we can confidently consign their existence to the realm of fable.

 

Ellandriel closed the book, and carefully put it back in its place.

"How many books do you have, Master Feanor?"

"Please. Simply Feanor will do. In this room, there are twelve thousand five hundred and thirty eight, not including the journals."

"Is... Is there an index?"

Feanor folded his hands and bowed to Ellandriel. "You are speaking to him. What would you like to know?"

"Do you have..." Ellandriel fell silent. What _did_ she want to know?

Lirael laughed. "Feanor does this to every book-worm to enter his library. He will know you by the choice you make. No pressure."

"You came here looking for the lyrics to a canto named 'Mraval Zhamier', because there were no pieces for baritones in the Choir's repertoire. You never quite explained why."

Lirael's face became a picture of virginal innocence. "Arador had just joined the choir, and there were no cantos to suit the lower voices."

"I never said I did not _understand_ it, my flower. I simply said you never _explained_ it. Miss Ellandriel, please feel free to browse, as long as you put the books back where they came from."

"Thank you, Sir," said Ellandriel. 

* * *

Ariciel walked up the stairs in the Cenarion Circle's tree dwelling. As soon as she walked in the door, she had noticed the gloomy feel of the place. The salesmen on the first floor had been happy to see her, but they had not been in the mood to make the usual good-natured jokes about either her height or her expertise on Furbolg. She knocked on the door to Bearwalker's private chambers, then went in. When she was in his class, Ariciel would have walked in without even a second thought.

Mathrengyl Bearwalker, her teacher, was sitting at a desk reading through his pupils' essays. He looked terrible. Lines she had never noticed before now showed in his face. Only when he looked up and saw her, did some of the shine of old return to his eyes. He got up and hugged her with the crushing force she remembered.

"Ariciel. It is so good to see you're alive." Bearwalker sighed. "So many people aren't."

Ariciel simply nodded.

"Didn't that big Human of yours tell you that live enemies are bad for you?"

"He did," said Ariciel.

"Then you know something that even the Aspects don't," said Bearwalker. "Arch-druid Staghelm has left us. Did you know he was working for the enemy?"

Ariciel gaped. " _Staghelm_? I mean, he was a pompous arrogant git, but _him_? Working for the _Horde_?"

"Horde? We should be so lucky. No, he's working for the Twilight's Hammer cult. They want to destroy all of Azeroth. Needless to say, they're quite pleased with the coming of Deathwing."

"I'm not," said Ariciel. "I lost friends in Auberdine. I take it that it's open season on the dung-eaters?"

"Oh gods, yes. The only good cultist is a dead cultist. They're easy to spot. Purple tabards with a hammer on a setting sun. Young Absynthus did a good drawing if you want to see what it looks like."

Bearwalker stepped over to the window and looked out. His hands were on his back.

"Fiora's missing," he said, quietly.

"She was always on the pier," said Ariciel.

Bearwalker nodded. "I've been looking. I haven't found her. Dead or alive. The pier was hit full on by the tidal wave. She can't have survived."

"Fiora's smart," said Ariciel, one hand on Bearwalker's shoulder. "She's also a lot tougher than she looks. If anyone could have survived, she could."

"If that is true, why haven't I heard of her?"

"Don't give up hope, Shan'do," said Ariciel.

"She's dead," said Mathrengyl Bearwalker. "I'm _good_ at finding people. If I can't find her... And I can't afford to cling to false hope. I have things to do that will need all of my attention."

"Can I help?"

"Of course you can. If only by staying upright and happy. I've got a few jobs for you if you want them."

"Tell me about them." 

* * *

Ellandriel came out of Feanor's library, and noticed with a blush that the sun had disappeared. She couldn't have been in there for more than fifteen minutes, could she? What bronze-flight dragon had wrought this sorcery? Feanor was sitting on the sofa with Lirael lying in his lap, bare feet on a pillow. She had a small book in her hand, and read from it in a low, sad sweet voice.

>   
> I saw their starved lips in the gloam,  
> With horrid warning gapèd wide  
> And I awoke and found me here,  
> On the cold hill's side.  
> 

Lirael looked up, and smiled at Ellandriel.

"Hi. You've made it out. Hungry?"

Ellandriel bowed her head, took a breath.

>   
> And this is why I sojourn here  
> Alone and palely loitering,  
> Though the sedge is withered from the lake  
> And no birds sing.  
> 

"You know this poem?" Lirael sat up, reached out and poured a glass of wine for Ellandriel. "It's not older than the Sundering."

"One of our servants brought it to us. One of the few books of poetry we had. Sir, our lore-masters would envy you your library. Thank you for allowing me to see it."

"As it is a cook's pleasure to see people eat, so it is mine to watch people enjoy my collection of books. What did you find?"

"You have many volumes describing the Dragon Aspects. Alexstrasza, Ysera, Malygos..."

"Neltharion," said Feanor. "In its benign form, Death can be the release, the end of pain, the final rest. Neltharion has chosen for himself the image of fear, of suffering. What surprises me most is how such a creature can gather followers to himself, such as those imbeciles that can be seen in Stormwind wailing and moaning and tearing out their hair. Do they think, perhaps, that Deathwing will spare them? Fools."

"I have read of the cult of Yogg-saron," said Ellandriel. "Its followers believed that their deity would drive all those in Azeroth insane before devouring them. They implored their god to be the first to be eaten, and to be spared this insanity."

Lirael looked from one to the other. "Can we have some dinner conversation that is not about pain, death and screaming madness? It should be almost ready."

"Quite right, my flower," said Feanor. He turned to Ellandriel. "Lirael's vegetable curry is a wonderful source of cheer. I hope you like spicy food."

"I love spicy food," said Ellandriel. "What kind of a fire-mage would I be if I did not?" 

 

If Lirael, motivated perhaps by a subconscious dislike for High-borne, had wanted to punish Ellandriel with a bowl of curry from Hell, then she would have come up short. Ellandriel ate with only a few delicate drops of sweat on her forehead to show for it, and with every sign of enjoyment.

Feanor put down his fork and spoon. "Miss Ellandriel, please tell us of your travels here. I gather that you were in the company of Druid Ariciel and her Draenei friends..." Feanor looked at Lirael.

"Stetson and Mareva," said Lirael.

"I was," said Ellandriel.

She looked at the table a moment to collect her thoughts, then told of how she met Ariciel and Mareva in Outland, and how they had travelled through the wild regions of Terrokkar Forest, Dalaran, their encounters in the Grizzly Hills, their raid on Silverwind Refuge, and finally their arrival in Darnassus.

"Lor'danel must really have grown quickly," said Feanor, sitting back in his chair. "I can remember when it was nothing more than a tent or two. Did you know Mr Daros Moonlance before you met him in Dalaran?"

"My teacher did," said Ellandriel. "They did not enjoy an amicable relationship, I am afraid."

"That is a shame. Have you any idea why not?"

Lirael pointed at the pot of curry, looking at Ellandriel. Ellandriel politely waved a hand. Lirael started to clear away the plates.

"Nobody holds Mr. Moonlance's abilities in higher regard than he does himself," said Ellandriel. "With perfect justification."

Feanor's eyes wrinkled. "Perhaps he doubted whether his reception here would be appropriate for one of his stature. Which explains why he sent you rather than coming himself."

"I think his assumptions are likely to be correct."

Feanor nodded with a pained expression on his face. "Quite possibly. Magis Mordent Evenshade met with a slight mishap when one of our younger and rasher Sentinels ran into him once or twice. Luckily, no lasting harm was done. To his credit, he endured a long wait in her company for his audience with Her Holiness Tyrande Whisperwind."

"He offered me an apprenticeship," said Ellandriel. "He intends to stay here as long as Her Holiness will let him."

"Did you accept?"

"I haven't yet. The memory of my late Teacher's fall is still alive within me. Still, in order to combat the forces of Deathwing, I will need to learn much."

"Would a teacher unhindered by restrictions on his movements, able to travel for information, not suit you better?"

"The Arcane energies of the world are all-encompassing," said Ellandriel. "There is no need to travel. A frost mage may study a single drop of water for a decade, and never want for things to explore. This, the High-borne have done through all their years of exile, abroad or hidden in Kalimdor. We have continued to cast our studies in the direction that Keldorei have refused to go. Being a prisoner has the single advantage that one has time to concentrate on a subject. I very much doubt whether any Magister in Azeroth possesses a knowledge of the Arcane deeper than we do. And now, we are here to offer that knowledge to the advantage of all Elves."

"We have other allies with knowledge of the Arcane. Many of us fear that Queen Azshara's ill-advised actions might be repeated, if we allow the High-borne to come out of exile."

Ellandriel looked into Feanor's eyes. "Consider two children. One has burnt her hand on a hot cauldron, where the other has never felt that pain. Which of the children would you leave in the kitchen with the fire burning?"

"Would it not be more prudent to have _neither_ child in the kitchen?"

"Prudent, yes. But then, who will stir the pots?" 

 

Lirael stepped into bed as Feanor held up the blankets for her. She warmed her cold feet on Feanor's legs, a thing he bore with his usual stoicism. Ellandriel had been installed on the sofa with extra blankets.

"So, my love," said Lirael. "What do you think? Can we allow the High-borne to come out of hiding?"

Lirael felt Feanor's chest rise in a deep sigh.

"I fear that I must conform to the old saying and say both 'no' and 'yes'. Magis Mordent Evenshade strikes me as a worthy man who we can trust. Daros Moonlance... less so. According to Miss Ellandriel, he still suffers from delusions of grandeur. We don't need people like him."

"What about Ellandriel?"

"She is a delightful young woman. Thank you for bringing her here."

"Fancy her, do you? You let a _fire_ _mage_ alone in your library. I take it that you won't mind if she stays."

"To send young Miss Ellandriel packing would be an act of stupidity bordering on the criminal," said Feanor. "I sincerely hope she takes Magis Evenshade up on his offer. What do you think of her?"

"She realised you were milking her for information. And she let you."

"Indeed. She is quite intelligent. Again, my flower, what do _you_ think of her?"

"I didn't like her. I didn't like what she was. I was still blaming her for the Sundering."

"But now you don't."

Lirael turned over to face Feanor, and moved a bit closer.

"Nobody who likes Milo's Fire Elemental curry as much as she does, can be all bad."

Feanor's hand slowly ran from Lirael's shoulder to her bottom.

"My beautiful flower, mysterious though they may be, your ways of judging character have never failed us yet." 

* * *

Ariciel stuck a Sea-lion head above the water, and looked round. She was on a mission for Bearwalker. Her job was to clean up the remaining corrupted water elementals, and any Cultists she could get her claws on. The water elementals, not to mention the Cultists, found it considerably more difficult to fight a fully-fledged feral Druid than a woman selling pies. Just after the event now known as 'The Shattering', there had been a rush to find and bring to Lor'danel as many survivors as possible. A list was pinned up in one of the buildings showing those who had been found, alive or dead. There hadn't been an addition to the list for weeks. It didn't stop her from looking. High-elven women don't simply disappear without a trace. Bearwalker hadn't asked Ariciel to look for what remained of Fiora Longears, but while she was in the area, she might as well. She flipped her tail up above the waterline, and shot away under the water, following the currents that an Elf's body could have been picked up by. Far away at the bottom, something caught her eye. Something shimmering. With powerful strokes of her flippers, she swam down, picked it up in her mouth and shot up to the surface. She changed back to her Elf form and held the thing in her hand. It was a crystal chalice, full of sea water. She tilted it to one side, but the water did not run out.

"Enchanted wine glasses never spill," said Ariciel. 


	23. From each according to their ability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the final chapter, and what better way to finish a story than with the sound of wedding bells? Well… A bit of violence, perhaps?

Mareva did look beautiful in her white dress. It had taken the combined effort of Ariciel, Lirael and Ellandriel to get her to have the dress fitted properly, and to have her hair done. Stetson could not take his eyes off her, so they were counting it as a success. Lirael was doing the ritual. Ellandriel had asked Mordent Evenshade to be a witness. Feanor had emerged from his library for a few hours to be present. Arador had volunteered a few of his fellow choir members to sing a hymn or two for Stetson and Mareva. Ariciel grinned to herself. Part of Draenei wedding ceremony was for the groom to come and fetch the bride, and having to pay a 'ransom' for her. Lirael had stood in the doorway, stone-faced, arms crossed, claiming that she knew no such person as a Draenei Shaman. Meanwhile, Mareva had been inside, screaming piteously about the perverted depravities these wild Night-elves were inflicting on her, and asking him to come back later. Stetson had forced his way in, and come out a few moments later, carrying Mareva in his arms. Lirael, Ariciel and Ellandriel had trailed him, complaining bitterly about how little ransom Setson had paid. They had only escaped by getting into one of the small floats in the waterways of Darnassus, which took them to a beautiful spot in the Temple gardens.

Ariciel watched as Lirael took both their hands, tied them together with a piece of rope and had them pronounce their vows. All the witnesses signed their name on the deed. Mareva and Stetson stood still in each other's arms, looking deep into each other's eyes, until Lirael coughed politely.

"Now get me out of this dress," said Mareva. "I look like a fairy cake."

"Gladly," said Stetson.

The whole congregation decamped to Salienne's inn for drinks and food. Stetson and Mareva appeared roughly an hour later, Mareva wearing her scale armour, looking very pleased with herself. She sat down next to Ariciel and accepted a pint of cider.

"Private ceremony?"

" _First_ private ceremony," said Mareva.

"Need any help on the second?"

"Hands off. I am taken."

Ariciel and Mareva grinned at each other. Their little party was occupying about half of Salienne's inn. On the other side were four of the Darnassus Sentinels, having a quiet pint or a cup or two of wine after their shift. The door opened and a fifth one came in. She bumped into Ellandriel's chair, making her spill her drink.

"Something smells here," said the Sentinel. "I thought Saelienne kept this place clean of vermin. I suppose I was wrong."

Ariciel slowly turned her head towards the new arrival. The expression on her face promised Trouble. Lirael recognised the signs and put her hand on Ariciel's arm. Lirael shook her head, once.

One of the other Sentinels looked round. "Put it away, Stillbough. We're off shift. Have a pint instead."

Sentinel Stillbough bent over Ellandriel, hands on the back of her chair. Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

"If you think I'm drinking with a filthy High-borne, you've got another thing coming."

"Suit yourself," said the other Sentinel. "But I've had a long shift with a whole string of pissheads asking me stupid questions. I'm here for a little peace and quiet. So sit down or piss off."

Ellandriel looked round. "Sentinel Stillbough. I remember your name. You are the one who bumped into my teacher. A few times, I understand."

"My, my," said Stillbough. "It speaks. Why is it that the smell grows ten times worse when they open their mouths? But I'll fix that."

Sentinel Stillbough picked up the water jug and slowly, deliberately poured it out over Ellandriel's head.

"There. Now, you're a _clean_ High-borne." She sniffed. "Still doesn't do anything about the smell, though."

Ellandriel's face darkened, and she got to her feet. Sentinel Stillbough laughed, and grabbed her by the front of her robes.

"This'll just take a little while, friends. Got to take out a little trash."

Ellandriel breathed in, then breathed out. Her skin started to glow with a deep orange light, and steam rose from her clothes. Stillbough let go of her with a surprised cry, and looked at her burnt hand.

"Now, Sentinel Stillbough, I am a clean and _dry_ High-borne. Is there anything else?"

Sentinel Stillbough felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked round... and up. Stetson towered over her.

"You are disturbing our wedding feast," said Stetson. "This is not a Dwarf wedding. Do you require assistance in finding the exit?"

"Think you can throw me out, goat man?"

"If he can't, I certainly can, Jasmine Stillbough." Inkeeper Saelienne stood in front of her, arms crossed, with an expression like thunder on her face. "The young lady was sitting here quietly, enjoying her meal. _You_ came in to pick a fight, and maybe get my tavern burnt to the ground. Do I have to explain to you what customers I like better? Get out, and don't come back till you grow some manners."

Sentinel Stillbough glared at Ellandriel, scowled at Saelienne, and stomped out muttering words nobody could hear. Saelienne turned to Ellandriel.

"I am very sorry about that, Miss. Would you like a drink, to cool yourself down? On the house." 

 

At the end of the evening, only Ariciel, Lirael and Ellandriel were left. Ellandriel was staring glumly down into her glass of Darnassian Green. They were all waiting for the others to move. Ariciel had a wine glass in front of her that she had brought herself. She poured some water into it, picked it up and turned it over. The water stayed in the glass.

"Guess where I found this?"

Lirael stared at the glass, and the water clinging staunchly to its bottom. "Auberdine?"

"Right in one. Fiora had a glass like this. In fact, I'm pretty sure that this is her glass. I found it at the bottom of the sea. Pure luck."

"Poor Fiora," said Lirael. "Did you tell Bearwalker?"

Ariciel shook her head. "He says he's given up on her. If only I could have found her body."

Ellandriel looked up. "Will you keep looking?"

"As duty allows," said Ariciel. "With all the hunting of cultists and water elementals we do, we're going to run out at some point."

"Mathrengyl Bearwalker hasn't given up on her," said Lirael. "Perhaps she's been picked up by a ship. Ships don't stray from their course for shipwrecked people."

"Dead _or_ alive," said Ariciel. "I spent two years looking for my family when common sense told me they'd be dead. Sometimes common sense is really stupid."

Lirael drained her glass. "Time for bed."

"My bed is full of Draenei," said Ariciel. "Hope it survives the night."

"Come on, I'll put you both up," said Lirael. "We can improvise." 

 

There was a bright moon, and the air smelled clean, crisp, and wholesome as they walked along the path to Lirael's place across the pond from the Howling Oak. Ellandriel straggled a bit. A small rock had found its way into her shoe and she had just put it back on when someone crashed into her, pulled her off the path into some shrubs, and wrestled her to the ground. Ellandriel lay on her back with her assailant sitting on top of her, pinning her hands to the ground.

"Hello. Remember me?"

"Yes," said Ellandriel, looking up into Sentinel Stillbough's face.

"We don't take kindly to your sort here. You filthy witches should have caught on by now, but some of you are just too stupid. But don't worry, I'll teach you. I'm going to _enjoy_ this."

Stillbough let go of Ellandriel's hands, and before she could move, she punched her in the face. Ellandriel cried out, tried to throw her off, but Stillbough was too strong for her. She hit Ellandriel again, a vicious right hook to her cheek, then grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

"What's the problem, witch? Can't do any of your little tricks? Too late now." She slammed the back of Ellandriel's head into the ground, punched her again.

"Maybe I'll kill you, witch. World's a better place with one less misbegotten High-borne in it."

Stillbough raised her fist again, looking down on Ellandriel's bloody face. Ellandriel coughed, spat out blood.

"Here it comes, witch!"

Ellandriel closed her eyes, but the punch never came. There was a fierce growl, and Ellandriel felt the weight of Sentinel Stillbough being pulled off her. There was a crash, and suddenly silence, apart from a low purring growl. Ellandriel rolled over, pushed herself up, and looked. Sentinel Stillbough was lying on her stomach. A white cat was standing over her, teeth no more than an inch from her face, dripping with saliva. Ellandriel staggered to her feet.

"Let her go." 

Cat-Ariciel looked up, puzzled.

"Let her _go_!"

Ariciel turned back to her Elf form, and stood up.

"I should have known," said Stillbough, getting up. "High-borne and High-borne slave. May the crows pick you both clean."

Ellandriel walked up to Sentinel Stillbough, slowly, her eyes glowing with a cold, pale light. She pointed her hand forward, and a ball of fire shot towards Stillbough's feet. Stillbough jumped away. Another fireball followed, then another, with Sentinel Stillbough leaping here and there to avoid them. Ellandriel advanced, shooting at Stillbough's feet, until she had her back to a tree. Ellandriel raised her fist, and pillars of fire rained down in a circle that included only her and the Sentinel.

"Go on then," said Stillbough, teeth clenched. "Kill me. My sisters will tear you to shreds."

Ellandriel growled. "Still, you do not understand. Still, you choose to remain ignorant. _We are not here to kill you!_ You struck blows against an _Arch-mage_! Mordent Evenshade could have killed you with a _thought_! If I wanted to, I could set you on fire with flames that will burn even under water, and watch you be consumed."

Ellandriel raised her hand, and a light grew between her fingers, glowing brighter and brighter till it was a dazzling white.

"Go on," said Ellandriel. "Hit me again. I dare you."

Sentinel Stillbough tried to press herself into the tree, looking with wide eyes at the ball of light in Ellandriel's hand. She could feel the heat on her face.

"No? I thought not." With a slight 'pop', the ball of plasma disappeared. Ellandriel's face, streaming with blood, was only an inch away from Stillbough's.

"This is my home. I will fight for this place, if you will let me. I will _die_ fighting for this place if that be my fate. Now. Do you want us on the inside pissing out, or on the outside pissing in?" 

 

Ellandriel sat on Lirael's bed. Lirael sat next to her with a bowl of water and a towel, cleaning away the blood before casting a healing spell. Despite everything, there was a little smile on Ellandriel's face.

"I'm so sorry," said Lirael. She raised her hand, cast her spell of healing. Cuts and bruises disappeared in the gentle glow.

"Thank you," said Ellandriel. She rubbed her face. "I may have convinced someone today that we fire mages have our uses."

"Ye gods, yes," said Ariciel. "I'd _much_ rather have you on the inside pissing out. Where'd you learn that expression?"

"Must have read it somewhere," said Ellandriel.

Lirael got up and pulled up the blanket for Ellandriel. "Get in. I'll get in with Ariciel on the floor."

"I thought you'd never ask," said Ariciel. 

* * *

Ariciel walked into her house, and looked round. The bed had either not been slept in, or someone had made it. She looked round. In front of the fireplace was a big stack of furs containing two Draenei, fast asleep. In the middle of the morning, no less. Ariciel walked round them quietly, put another few logs on the fire and put the kettle on. She sat down on her chair watching the pair of Draenei, sipping her tea, until Mareva stirred, and woke up, blinking at the sunlight. Ariciel beamed at her.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please," said Mareva. She gently maneuvered out from under Stetson's arm and went in search of her clothes. "Before you ask. Whatever assumptions you make about my night are likely to be correct. How was your night?"

"Fun. We stayed in the tavern until Saelienne turfed us out, and then our friendly firestarter was jumped by a Sentinel."

Mareva, hands behind her back to put on her bra, looked up at Ariciel.

" _Bozhe_ _moi_ , is she alright?"

"Oh yes. She took a few punches to the face, but Lirael healed her." Ariciel grinned. "And then, she made Stillbough think that she fancied some crispy Sentinel. Stillbough shat herself."

"Excellent. Disrespect for spellcasters must be discouraged."

"And then, she asks if she wants to fight _with_ her or _against_ her."

Mareva searched in her pack, pulled out a skirt and put it on. "Is there no end to this woman's virtues?"

Ariciel shrugged. "Likes boys only."

There were some indistinct noises from the pile of furs by the fire. Stetson looked up, saw Mareva, and his face lit up. Then, he saw Ariciel and the light went out again.

"Is he wearing what I think he is?" said Ariciel.

"He most certainly is," said Mareva.

Ariciel drew close to Mareva and slowly ran her fingers over her stomach. She breathed in her ear. "If I keep doing this, he'll never come out."

Stetson pointed at Ariciel. "Pale woman. Leave. Blue woman. Come here."

Ariciel raised her eyebrows. "Is he dominating us?"

"If he is, then it is working. I feel strangely compelled to throw you out." 

 

Ariciel's house was only a few minutes' walk from the lake in the middle of Darnassus, and they all sat by the water. Ariciel had taken off her boots and sat with her feet in the water, letting the sun shine on her face while it lasted. Stetson sat on the grass, with Mareva's head in his lap. Morgan lay curled up next to him. Ellandriel sat cross-legged on the ground, looking into the distance.

"I have always liked Telaar," said Stetson. "In the middle of the plains of Nagrand. Good hunting."

"I am a city girl," said Mareva. "Do they even have electricity there?"

"There is a good connection to Shattrath, if you wish for the bright lights."

"And there's a portal in Shattrath to take you to Stormwind, if you'd want to come and visit me at the Caer," said Ariciel. "Or I could take the portal to the Blasted lands and take the flappy to where you are. Easy."

Ellandriel looked up. "There really is a permanent portal in Stormwind? My Teacher did not believe it."

"Oh yes. It's in the mage tower. Hey, you'd probably like it there. Lots of mages."

" _Human_ mages?"

"Hey, don't knock Humans. Ye gods, I miss mine."

"I need to be here, with the Night-elf mages. Shan'do Evenshade says I can help convince the Kel'dorei of the benefits of allowing us to return."

Mareva scowled. "Why do zlotniks still need to be convinced of that? Is it not obvious that knowledge of the Arcane is sorely missing from the Kel'dorei experience? So these stupid people need to be shown a pretty Mage girl to convince them that the Mages are on their side. Sometimes I wish that people would simply do the right thing for the right reasons. People are stupid."

"I am more than just a pretty face," said Ellandriel. "I can burn things and blow stuff up. Shan'do Evenshade is going to teach me how to turn invisible, turn enemies into sheep, and make people fall slowly. And how to spend my days in the company of people who wish to drink my blood."

"Exactly," said Mareva. "These people do not see the extra firepower and knowledge of an Elf like Magis Evenshade, or the things that Miss Ellandriel could do for them if they would only allow her. They only see someone they are still hating after a hundred centuries. Magis Evenshade cannot convince them because he is an old man, but Miss Ellandriel can, because she looks friendly."

"That did not hold back Sentinel Stillbough."

"Sentinel Stillbough is an idiot," said Ariciel.

"Most people are idiots," said Mareva.

There was a moment of silence, all of them busy with their own thoughts.

"We cannot go home yet," said Stetson.

Mareva looked up at him. "Why not?"

"We Draenei are known for two things. One of them is our fervour in the worship of the Light."

Mareva laughed. "And the other one is being good in..."

"The other one is running away. We ran away from Argus. Then we ran away from Draenor. I am done running away." Stetson's big hand gently stroked Mareva's face. "Until this Deathwing creature is dead, I must stay in Azeroth."

Mareva smiled up at Stetson. "There is more of your brother inside you than you realise."

"Plenty of work to do," said Ariciel. "Azeroth is probably crawling with Twilight Cultists. I'm heading for the Caer. I want my Human. The couple that slays together..."

Someone walked up to them. One of the Sentinels, and it was actually Sentinel Stillbough. Everyone looked at her.

"I would like to have a word with the High-borne," said Stillbough.

"I am here," said Ellandriel.

"Alone."

Ellandriel gave Stillbough a look, then got to her feet. Ariciel splashed her feet in the water, then pulled her boots back on. She walked up next to Ellandriel.

"Lay a finger on her, and I'll rip your head off, Sentinel."

"If I wanted her dead, cat girl, I would get rid of you first."

Ellandriel stepped forward. "I am blessed with friends as well as enemies. Let us walk." 

 

Ellandriel followed Sentinel Stillbough. A little way off, but still within sight of her friends, they stopped.

"What brings you here, Sentinel Stillbough?"

"Let's be clear on this, I'm not here because I want to be. My captain sent me."

"That much I can see. Why did she send you?"

"You said you wanted to fight with us. For Darnassus."

"I did, and I do," said Ellandriel. "Do you think I did not mean what I said?"

"No. What I think is that as soon as the smell of blood is in the air, you'll turn tail and crawl back into the hole you came out of. Which suits me perfectly. But still, you're invited. We leave for Auberdine in an hour. Some of our priestesses have gone missing, along with their protectors, and we are going to find them. If you are not at the portal an hour from now, do not let me find you in Darnassus. Or anywhere else, for that matter."

Stillbough turned round, and ran off double-time towards the Warrior's Terrace, leaving Ellandriel looking a bit dazed. Then, Ellandriel's jaw set. Ariciel, Mareva and Stetson came walking up.

"What'd she want?" said Ariciel.

"We are going on a mission," said Ellandriel. "This is interesting. Nobody ever told me that I talked too much."

"It's a trap," said Ariciel. "She wants to drop you in some Light-bereft place and get you killed."

"I... don't think so," said Ellandriel.

"Surely, you do not plan to go with her?" said Mareva.

"I am," said Ellandriel. "If I do not go, then what good is my word? I said I would fight for this place. So I shall."

"You, my friend, need a proper set of caster robes," said Mareva.

"I know just who to ask," said Ariciel. 

* * *

Ellandriel stood at the portal down to Rut'theran Village. She was wearing new off-the-peg dark green robes, made by Sentinel Thenysil's boyfriend. She had put the spell power enchantments on them herself. Teacher's staff was in her hand, and to back it up, she had a long, very sharp dagger at her belt that she sincerely hoped she would not draw this evening. She had declined Ariciel's offer to come with her. If she was to gain the Sentinel's trust, then she should not rely on helpers. None of the Sentinels were there yet, and in the back of her mind was the nagging feeling that this might all be some kind of joke.

The portal shimmered, and out stepped Sentinel Stillbough.

"When we say 'at the portal', witch, we mean at the _bottom_ of the portal. Nice try. Follow me."

Ellandriel sniffed, and followed Stillbough through the portal. At the bottom of Teldrassil's trunk were a group of Sentinels, all wielding bows and arrows, and war-glaives. The captain looked in her direction, and walked over. She was a short woman, with heavily muscled arms and dark short hair. By her clan marks, she was about five hundred years old.

"Mage Ellandriel of the Shen'dralar. Welcome to our little party. I am captain Leafwind. We are on a search and rescue mission. You are here to provide backup firepower. You will stay with me all the time, and shoot what I tell you to shoot. We'll be moving pretty quick, be sure not to drag us down. Anything happens to me, and Sentinel Silvercloud there will be in command. Questions?"

Ellandriel took a deep breath. "No, Captain."

"Good. Everyone grab a hippogriff. Move out. Stay close to me, Shen'dralar." 

 

Nothing moves in the forests like a Night-elf Sentinel. Ellandriel was certain that they were holding back for her. She managed to keep up, and to avoid getting her robes stuck in the trees. Suddenly, captain Leafwind grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the ground. They stopped. At a few hand gestures from the captain, Sentinels scattered. Ellandriel looked round, extending her senses to the unseelie. She closed her eyes, and slowly turned her head round. She could sense something, like the magical equivalent of a piece of meat that has been left outside for too long. Something bad. She wasn't at all surprised when a few Sentinels came back, and they all moved in that direction.

A few minutes later, they found themselves at the mouth of a cave. Sentries stood by its entrance. Captain Leafwind pointed at two Sentinels, then at the guards. She drew her finger across her throat. The Sentinels disappeared. A few moments later, the guards collapsed, and were dragged off into the forest. Ellandriel looked into the cave, straining all her senses. She touched captain Leafwind's shoulder.

"Magic is being worked in that cave. Bad magic. Some kind of summoning ritual that requires a sacrifice."

"We know," said the captain. "Let's tell the dung-eaters not to. Are you ready to die for your fellow Night-elves, Shen'dralar?"

Ellandriel looked into the captain's eyes.

" _Those_ piss-heads? Surely, you speak in jest. I am only here to fry cultists."

The captain looked at Ellandriel, then her teeth showed in a big grin. Still laughing, she sprinted forward. Ellandriel gathered up her battle spells and followed her. 

* * *

Mordent Evenshade stood by the entrance to the Temple of the Moon, barely able to contain his anger, when a group of Sentinels appeared through the portal. Four of them were carrying stretchers containing one unconscious Priestess each. They ran straight into the Temple, and delivered the Priestesses to their sisters, who wasted no time in removing curses and casting their healing spells. Mordent Evenshade tried to walk into the Temple, but he was stopped by the guards. His voice boomed through the halls.

" _Captain_!"

Captain Leafwind turned round, and walked up calmly.

"Mister Evenshade. What can I do you for?"

"How... How _dare_ you kidnap my student for one of your wild adventures! You could have got her _killed_!"

The Captain grinned at Mordent Evenshade. "Miss Ellandriel volunteered to accompany us. Give us a nice sample of what you bleeding sparkies are worth in a fight."

"She is _not_ a battle mage! She is barely out of school yet! She is a _civilian_! You cannot hold her to Army standards!"

Captain Leafwind pulled at the straps to her bracers, then looked at Mordent Evenshade.

"Kid did fine. By the Light, we're lucky we've got any eyebrows left between us. If you're her teacher, tell her not to cut loose full force in a cave, there's a good chap. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a couple of pints of ale with my name on them."

The captain turned round and walked off in the direction of the inn.

"Tyrande Whisperwind will hear of this! You haven't heard the last!"

Captain Leafwind raised an arm. She walked towards the inn without even looking round.

"Give her my regards when you see her." 

 

The moon shone bright on the world-tree Teldrassil when a bird flew up, and landed on one of the thick branches of the Howling Oak. It bowed its head, and scratched its chest feathers with its beak. Then, it sailed down to the small house, and turned into a white-haired Night-elf. She opened the door and walked in.

"She's fine," said Ariciel. "She's curing her adrenalin overdose with a few pints in Saelienne's. Probably be along soon."

"That is good news," said Stetson. "Did you have to intervene?"

"Nope. She had a whole squad of pumped-up Sentinels with her. Ye gods, they're full of themselves."

"Soldiers," said Mareva. "Did you see what they were doing?"

"Don't know exactly. Pulling a pair of cute priestesses out of a cave. Those girls did _not_ look like they were enjoying themselves in there. But it wasn't some kind of suicide mission."

The door opened, and Ellandriel stepped in, face aglow. Mareva gave her a cold look.

"Do you know what time it is, young lady?"

"It is butt kicking time!" Ellandriel shook her tiny fist. "We pulled out the sacrificial victims, blasted the Cultists to pieces, and generally pissed all over their corpses."

"Honestly," said Ariciel. "Do you learn that kind of language from your new friends?"

Ellandriel bounced up and down, with a grin from ear to ear. "They bought me beer! They're my sisters!"

"Since when do you _like_ beer? You used to go for wine."

"Wine is for sissies. Real Sentinels drink real ale!" Ellandriel put her hand on her breast. "My goodness. I never knew this would be so... exhilarating."

Mareva stood up from Stetson's lap, walked over and hugged Ellandriel.

"I am very happy to see you in one piece. Now if you do not mind, I have a husband to allow to please me. Are you coming my dearest?"

Stetson got to his hooves, waved, and followed Mareva out of the door. Ariciel started taking off her armour. Ellandriel sat on the bed and kicked off her boots.

"You look well prepared for trouble."

"Warrior Druid," said Ariciel. "It's against my religion to shed my armour when my companions are in battle. Thus am I with you in spirit, ready to avenge you, should you die gloriously in battle."

Ellandriel hung her new robes over a chair.

"Thank you," she said.

"What for?"

"I saw a large, dark blue bird when we were flying from Auberdine."

Ariciel's eyes shone at Ellandriel. "They're native to this place."

Ellandriel got into bed. There was no way she was going to sleep now. She lay back, looking at the ceiling. Ariciel got in the other side of the bed.

"You know, Sentinel Stillbough actually got me a drink. Yesterday she wanted to kill me."

"Soldiers," said Ariciel. "Once they catch on that you're going to keep them alive, they are your best friends. Your teacher's got it a lot more difficult. He has to deal with _politicians_."

"When are you leaving?"

"Sent mail to Bannog," said Ariciel. "Soon as I know where he is, I'm joining him."

"And Mareva and Stetson?"

"Don't know. I think Mareva will want to talk to Farseer Nobundo. So they'll be off to Exodar."

They fell silent. Ariciel turned over, plumped up her pillow. Ellandriel felt the excitement slowly give way to a sad kind of tiredness.

"You are my first friends beyond Eldre'thalas. I will miss you."

Ariciel looked over her shoulder at Ellandriel. "We're not gone yet."

"That is true. Good night, Lady Ariciel."

Ariciel laughed. "Good night." 

* * *

They were standing by the portal, reluctant to move for just a few minutes. Ariciel had heard that Bannog was headed back to Redridge. Ariciel was a bit worried. His letter had been to-the-point, just relating the facts. Paladin Peterselie was safe, he was coming back. He'd usually include a few jokes or grubby remarks, which were conspicuously absent now. Mareva and Stetson were heading for Exodar, for some spiritual counseling, maybe to introduce Stetson to a few of her friends. Ellandriel and Lirael were the only ones who were staying. Mareva stepped forward, and hugged first Lirael, then Ellandriel.

"Good fortune to you and yours," said Mareva. "Until we meet again."

"May the stars guide you," said Ellandriel. She turned round to Ariciel, who held her close, and put her hand on her bottom. Ellandriel gave her the Look, and they laughed.

"Keep safe, fire girl," said Ariciel. "Don't let those Sentinels send you on stupid errands."

"Mordent Evenshade won't let them," said Ellandriel. "He has started to teach me the finer points of Mage-craft. He invited me to come and stay with him at the Howling Oak. I am not sure whether to take him up on that offer."

"What? In among those hairy Gilneans? With all that howling at the Moon, you'll never catch a wink. Here." Ariciel reached in her pocket and gave Ellandriel the key to her house. "A house needs someone living in it or it goes mouldy. I may not be back for a while. Rent's paid till the end of the year. Get that Evenshade character to pay you for jobs. Lirael knows the owners."

Ellandriel looked at the key in her hand, unable to speak.

"The garden belongs to the house up to the end of the flower bed. Don't let anyone plant anything in it."

"Thank you," said Ellandriel, with a lump in her throat. She coughed. "Would you mind terribly if I put up a few bookshelves?"

"Sure, go ahead." 

 

Mareva, Stetson and Ariciel stood on the new pier of Rut'theran village, waiting for the boat to Exodar. Ariciel would take the other ferry, to Stormwind. Then, home to Redridge. She was looking forward to it. Incredible how Humans grow on you if you let them. She'd had a talk with Shan'do Bearwalker, who seemed to think that hunting grubby water elementals was far beneath her. He'd given her the name of a Shaman in Stormwind, who could probably find her something more worthwhile to do with her time. She looked at Mareva, who was leaning against Stetson in a way that would put bees off honey. Ariciel looked at the horizon. No ships were in sight yet. Good. She didn't want to say goodbye to Mareva just yet. Who knew when they'd meet again?

"Our paths will cross again," said Mareva.

"Stop reading my mind," said Ariciel. "How do you know anyway?"

"I feel it in the water," said Mareva. "I feel it in the Earth. I smell it in the wind. I see it in the flames of destiny."

"Yeah? Wow."

"Also, you are just a boat trip away. We have no place in this world we can truly call home, so that castle your boyfriend is named after is as good a place as any to visit. I wish to see how Selena is doing."

"Give her some advice on what to do with Smitty?"

Stetson laughed. "I do not think Humans have a transgoto."

"Doesn't mean she has to embroider at him till he gets the message," said Ariciel. "Where are you going, after Exodar?"

"I do not know," said Mareva.

"We can go _anywhere_ now," said Ariciel. "For we are awesome."

The ferry to Exodar was the first to arrive. Mareva held Ariciel tight. "You are my friend, and I love you. If ever you need my help, send word."

"Until we meet again, be well. Be well, both of you." 

* * *

A small Night-elf sailing ship made its way to the port. One of the sailors called over her shoulder.

"Clancula? Theramore's in sight. Come and see what it looks like."

The blonde High-elf woman walked onto the foredeck, staring at the port. They were calling her Clancula, a variation on a word meaning Unknown. She still had not remembered her name, since they pulled her out of the water. She'd vaguely remembered the name of Theramore as a place where once she had been. Clancula stood on tip-toe, shielding her eyes with a hand.

"What a dump," she said.

"Not too bad, for a Human port. Do you recognise it?"

Clancula's eyes narrowed, as if she were forcing herself to remember. Then, she seemed to shrink.

"No. Not even a glimmer."

The sailor put her arm round Clancula's slender shoulders.

"Don't worry. We'll take a walk through town. Captain needs to get a new load anyway. Maybe someone will recognise you."

Clancula nodded slowly.

"Maybe." 

* * *

Ariciel had been on this ferry before. As soon as the sails were trimmed and there was no chance of getting under the sailors' feet, she found her space, leaning against the fore-mast, looking ahead. Somewhere behind her, someone sang a shanty she knew the alternative words to, to the sound of a scrubbing brush. The sailors had told her of what had happened in Stormwind, the day the Dragon came. Who did she know in Stormwind? A few innkeepers, naturally. A family of Gnomes. She hoped they would be alright. Ariciel closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the mast and sang along with the song. Life was about to get scary. And interesting. Best to face it side by side with the Human she loved. She grabbed her staff and went to the galley to see if the cook had any hot water for tea. 

* * *

Stetson watched Mareva with another woman in her arms. Mareva had introduced her as Oraya, and assured him that she was not in her group of perverted Deviants. Her boyfriend, named Gur'dan, stood by, looking at Stetson with a what-can-you-do kind of look on his face. It had been quite a day. They had visited Mareva's fellow engineer, Grofal, who against all expectations had found a lovely young girl, who he had introduced as Estiria. He taken up mage-craft with her. They had caught Farseer Nobundo, just as he was making ready to leave, to lend his aid to the war effort against Deathwing. Stetson stood still, with a fond smile on his face. He had to admit that Mareva was better at making friends than he was. He'd have to think hard to remember anyone of his old hunting group he'd be willing to introduce to her. His smile faded as he thought of his brother. Would he have liked Mareva, user of Shamanic magic as she was? Would he have tried to turn her back to the Ways of the Light? Stetson laughed to himself.

"I would have loved to watch you try, brother." 

* * *

In a small house on top of the giant tree Teldrassil, a young woman sat at the table, writing her journal. Her dark hair was perilously close to the candle, but what did a fire-mage have to fear from a candle flame? She drew a little line under the paragraph and looked up at the wall. There was a small, gnawing piece of doubt in her mind about the shelves, but Ariciel had said to go ahead. One wall was probably enough for now, but bookworms abhor an empty bookshelf, and she could have sworn she'd never bought at least half of the books. Maybe they bred. She closed the Thalassian dictionary she had borrowed from Feanor, the Orcish dictionary she had found in a small bookshop and looked again at her writing. It was not comfortable reading, but several of the large players of earlier conflicts had re-surfaced. Arch-druid Malfurion Stormrage. Ysera, the Green Dragon Aspect. Lord Cenarius was rumoured to be stirring in his dwelling in the Emerald Dream. And now, the High-borne had returned. Ellandriel closed her journal and put it on the shelf. Tomorrow, she would be going on a field trip with Mordent Evenshade and a group of Druids and Sentinels. Shan'do Evenshade would be demonstrating what a fully-fledged battle-mage could do to a group of Twilight's Hammer cultists who were making a place called The Master's Glaive unsafe. She rather suspected the answer would be: quite a lot. The clock struck ten. Saelienne's would be closing in an hour, and it was important for her to mingle with the other Night-elves. That Saelienne had the best honey-mead she'd ever tasted, was simply a happy side benefit. She stepped outside, into the moonlight, and breathed in Teldrassil's wholesome air. She closed the door behind her and walked out into the night. 


End file.
